


Two Noons in their Moccasins

by Scrumpadouchus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (basically a bodyswap AU), Ages are also adjusted accordingly, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Kimi no Na wa AU, M/M, Main pair is McHanzo, McHelpme, Omnic Crisis Era, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Others are in the background, Young McCree/Young Hanzo, timeline of events tweaked slightly, why did i do this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2018-09-17 10:13:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9319184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrumpadouchus/pseuds/Scrumpadouchus
Summary: In which an archer and a cowboy start suddenly waking up in each others' bodies, and they attempt to make the most of being suddenly dropped into the life of a complete stranger.In the process they make some mischief, make some mistakes and change each others' lives.





	1. Hanzo I

**Author's Note:**

> This is where it begins. I swore I'd never come back, but here I am. It's gonna be a long one folks, so hopefully you're ready.
> 
> I am not sure if this has been done before but if so I have yet to see it, and so once again I promised I'd write it for my friend. I just... I have so many regrets. This is an AU based off of/inspired by Kimi no na wa, which is an excellent movie. You don't need to see it before reading this fic, but if you /have/ seen it you probably have an idea of where this is gonna go haha.  
> Also it's superb so just go watch it for that reason alone.
> 
> Anyway, as always;  
> My apologies for being trash.

Hanzo has grown up on folklore, keeping the legends of his clan close to him. Knowing your history is the only way to truly know yourself, after all. And a true Shimada co-exists with their own unique brand of magic. To deny its existence would be foolish. 

Despite his openness to this side of the world, nothing could have prepared him for waking up in an unfamiliar room, feeling like his body wasn’t quite _right,_ as if he was wearing clothes that a seamstress designed and fitted for a different person. Had he been kidnapped? Knocked out and dragged to this unknown location? His training kicked in, in place of panic.

_Assess your surroundings._

His eyes flicker to the ceiling.

In the dark, he can see that It is a strange, soulless grey tile, not at all the fine wood he had been expecting. Corporate looking, standardized, plain grey scale walls. There’s a garish orange lining providing some sort of accent over the outlines of the door and where wall meets floor. No windows - was the room underground? The flooring is black, though in this particular room someone had dragged in a brown shag-rug. He can make out a few posters on the wall, one peculiar one depicting men with wide brimmed hats and impractical looking guns on horses, depicting dynamic action caught in a freeze-frame. The other posters are starring heroic-looking figures posing to face the camera. He recognizes the writing, blazing over the tops in bright block letters.

English.

Hanzo looks down. He’s in a single-sized bed. Pushed against a wall adjacent to him there’s a chest of drawers with very minimal personal items on its top, and a small rectangular mirror hangs over it. A hat also sits on top the drawers, and it looks like the ones he saw in the action posters. Brown with a slightly U shaped brim.

_A cowboy hat? It has to be part of the décor,_ Hanzo thinks. _No human alive today is shameless enough to wear one seriously._

There’s a nightstand with a lamp to the right of him, and a small radio with luminescent blue lettering that showed the time; _Five forty nine am_. There’s not much furniture present, but the room is small, so it feels more cramped than it should. The whole room is distinctly western in style. He would’ve expected the place to be bigger.

Reflexively, he goes to call the dragons - _his_ dragons, the ones that awoke in him as was the honour of his bloodline. He mentally reaches out for them - not in violence, but to sense their presence. To have their support at such an uncertain time would be a great advantage if his situation went downhill. He was still in training to control them, an undertaking that would take a decade of honing and perfecting. As such, calling them at will was still difficult for him. His distinguished father and the more experienced, elder Shimadas in his clan had been able to do so expertly. Even now, years into the practise, they still sometimes ignore his own call even when he can feel their presence. Hanzo felt they did it solely to irk him.

This, though, was different. He could not feel their presence at all. It was as though he was a child again, not yet awakened to their power and guidance. Frowning, he sits up and throws off his blankets and grabs at his left arm, pulling up on the sleeve of the large t-shirt he’s in - it’s not the clothes he had went to sleep in, but that was a question for later.

There was nothing there. His entire arm, from shoulder to wrist, was _bare_. The proud dragon that was inked in great detail had disappeared with no marks left behind, as if it had never existed there in the first place. Flipping his arm over revealed an ugly, grinning skull with wings tattooed in black on his forearm, the word ' _Deadlock_ ' written over it. It looked like something done by a thirteen-year-old in their garage in an attempt to look cool. Briefly, he foolishly laments the inconvenience of having to spend a full two days to go get the dragon tattoo redone and the other one removed, before realising that none of that made any sense.

This arm was not _his_ arm. The skin tone was slightly too dark, for starters. Whether it was from a tan or from genetics, he couldn’t be certain. His arm hair was slightly too light as well. 

With a creeping sense of horror, he moved his hands up to feel his face. The shape was all wrong. The jaw was more pronounced, and his cheeks and chin - though thankfully mostly smooth - ended with a scrap of facial hair under his bottom lip. _A soul patch? Or is it called a goatee?_ Either way, he despised it.

_Disgraceful._

Hanzo’s hands run over his head, and feels hair - thank the dragon, his pride would have smarted terribly if he was bald - but it’s much shorter than what he’s used to. Its length is such that he can feel it brushing his neck, and the strands feel soft and thick and _wild_. He never thought he’d ever find hair wilder than Genji’s, but it seems here he’s found a contester.

He flicks on the lamp and opens the drawer of the night table to inspect its contents. Most notable is the six round revolver with a spur attached to the posterior end of the grip lying on top of a pile of miscellaneous papers, loose ammo, and a single...cigar? His nose wrinkled. _Disgusting habit_. Hanzo’s hand hovered over the gun a moment, but then shuts the drawer. He’d keep it in mind, but there’s no need to arm himself quite yet.

He cautiously moves his legs over the side of the mattress and stepped out of bed. He’s not dressed in pajama pants - just boxers - and even worse, they had the instantly recognisable stars and stripes printed on them in bright red, white and blue. Who sleeps in only their boxers and a T-shirt? And worse, boxers styled like the American flag? With a shudder, he stands up and apprehensively approaches the mirror, his sense of dread growing every step he takes. Standing in front of the dresser, Hanzo slowly raises his gaze until he can view himself, eye to eye in the mirror.

Well, it’s not himself, for starters.

The shock isn’t as bad as he thought it’d be, but he’s been slowly coming to this conclusion since he woke up, so there was no point making a fuss about it.

He’s young. So at least there’s that.

Hanzo can’t tell exactly if he’s a late teenager or an early twenty-something, but he doesn’t physically look like an untrustworthy person. The soul patch is… not to his taste, but if he is to be stuck in this body for long, it is something he could easily correct with a razor.

Brown eyes. Brown hair. Young face. Soul patch. Relatively fit appearance. Tall. Or, rather, taller than he would be if he were in his normal body. All in all, nothing too spectacular. Not a face he had ever seen before now, either. Certainly not a comrade or associate of his family. 

Supposedly the man (teen?) is an American - why else would he wear such atrocious boxers - and therefore Hanzo knows he’s probably far, far away from Hanamura.

_What matter of magic is this?_

Again, he reaches out for the dragons, and feels only the constricting edges of his own mind. Sighing in frustration, he stops the effort.

Can’t be expecting help from any outside sources, then.

The realisation that he is on his own is a somber one. Hanzo walks back over to the rug and gets on his knees, closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind.

_Breathe in through the nose,_

_Breathe out through the mouth._

He could stay in the room all day. If anyone checked up on him, he could pretend to be sick. When it’s night, he could sneak out.

_And go where? Back to Hanamura?_ It would not be impossible, but likely very difficult. He didn’t even know where he was right now, outside of the guess of ‘somewhere in America.’

The radio suddenly starts blaring out angry static. Hanzo flinches out of his thoughts, and hurries back to switch off the alarm clock.

_Six am_. Seems like whoever he was in the body of was an early riser. Hanzo approved - he too, liked to rise with the sun.

There was always the option that this stranger lived alone, and he was sitting in this bedroom, worrying for no reason. Curiosity enticed him to get dressed and go see what lay outside his room, even if only to figure out what part of the America he was in.

He is a _dragon_ , next heir of the Shimada empire. He is trained in traditional weapons, fire arms, and the art of unarmed combat. There should be no reason for him to fear running into any human, no matter the circumstances.

Bolstered by the thought, he goes to the dresser and opens up the drawers to dig for new clothes.

It was easy enough. One drawer held shirts, another had pants. Socks were balled up in odd pairs next to the underclothes. He decides to keep the same boxers on, for privacies sake of the stranger, even though the underwear is so tacky he feels his skin might peel from contact with it. The pants are a bit loose - he digs for a belt in the drawer. There’s only one.

It’s the most hideous thing he’s ever seen.

The belt has an oversized buckle in loud, tacky brass, with capitalised letters spelling ‘BAMF’. He’s not exactly sure what it’s supposed to be; it’s not an English word he had ever learned from his tutors, but he’s certain that it’s probably some kind of obnoxious American joke and he’d rather have no part in it. Hanzo puts the belt back into the drawer. He’d rather deal with the loose pants.

He grabs the brush on the dresser and drags it through his tangled mess of bed head a few times, and ignores the other personal products that are assembled under the mirror. One is a bottle of what looks like cologne, the others are strange plastic cylinders with some kind of waxy substance inside. If this man used hair gel or anything of the like, his body was out of luck today. Hanzo wasn't going to mess with any of it. He’d like to take a shower, or even better a _bath_ , but he has no idea where the bathrooms are and he’d rather not end up wandering around like a fool looking for it - unless, of course, he ends up being the sole inhabitant of this building.

There’s a pair of sturdy looking combat boots by the door. _Of course, Americans have a peculiar trend of wearing their shoes inside_ ; Hanzo remembers seeing that much from imbibing foreign media with Genji. They’re already loosely lased up, presumably so that the owner could just slip them on without having to stop to tie them each time. He thinks of the gun concealed in the bedside drawer.

What kind of person was this man, this stranger, whose body he had unwittingly snatched? _Lazy - and dangerous, or perhaps paranoid_. That at least was evident.

Hanzo doubles back and grabs the gun. It’s a single action revolver, fully loaded. It’s a bit old fashioned to still have a hammer, but the gun looked like it could pack a serious punch if necessary. He slips it into his back pocket.

_Perfect._

With that, he’s ready, and slides open the door.

Hanzo peers into the hallway. There are more doors, identical to the one he just left. Some have a space where a nameplate could presumably be slid in, but none of the doors - including his - have made use of this fact.

_What was this place? A dormitory?_ Perhaps he was at a university residence of some sort.

One door has a pictogram of a shower head spraying water.

The lure of having the chance to freshen up was too great. 

Hanzo steps in quietly through the door and pauses before going around the privacy wall - his feet are stepping so lightly on the tile he knows that nobody should hear his presence. He hears no sounds of voices or running water. The room is, to his relief, empty.

There are multiple shower stalls set up along one wall, with toilet stalls along another and counters with soap, paper towels and built in sinks set up on the remaining free wall. Small toiletry bags take up some of the free counter space, and some toothbrushes are stuck upright in a cup. That dashes all hopes of him being the only one in this dormitory. Hanzo assumes one of those bags are his, but isn’t about to try his luck just for a tooth brush. He splashes water on his face, rinses out his mouth, and practises keeping a straight face in the wall mirror. It’s no use. He still looks worried. Whoever this man was, his features weren’t suited for holding a straight face.

His … _predicament_ , was more than out of the ordinary. Even if this was some rare side-effect of the dragons, he had never heard anyone bring it up. Surely someone in his family would have warned him, or the personal memoirs of his forefathers would have brought up the phenomenon. Perhaps he really was just lucid dreaming. Another splash of water to the face and a pinch to the hand dashed that hopeful theory. Hanzo stares at the strange face in the mirror, and starts to feel the seeds of uncertainty sprouting in his gut.

What was his true body doing at this moment? Was the mind of this stranger currently occupying him? Walking around Hanamura, getting lost and acting the fool with his face? He grits his teeth and forces himself to take a slow, deep breath. When he releases it, he feels slightly calmer. There’s no proof that the stranger would act obnoxious in his body - just being American didn’t guarantee anything

Or perhaps, the stranger would also consider attempting to fake sick and would wait out the experience in an unfamiliar bedroom? Either seemed likely. He could only hope the man would choose the latter option, and his brother, clansmen, and hired domestics would not notice anything amiss.

The door to the bathroom squeaks open. Hanzo jolts back from the sink, jumped into a shower cubicle, pulled the curtain across and has suspended himself off the floor by pressing his hands and feet to the opposite walls of the stall. He can’t risk anyone seeing his feet.

Hanzo can hear his pulse pounding steadily in his ears. He holds his breath. The footsteps are moderately heavy, and they walk closer until finally, _thankfully_ stopping, and then Hanzo hears running water. The tap is on, and the person starts brushing their teeth.

He deems it safe to exhale, does so quickly, and prepares to hold his breath again. He’s still suspended off the floor, but his strong arms and legs are slightly trembling from the awkward position. The stranger _was_ fit, but not on par with his original body. _How unfortunate, that the muscle memory of the mind is not in line with the training of the body_. That was the plus for receiving - as his brother would say - ninja training. If he had been in his real body, he could hold his position here for over an hour, if he had to.

Turns out he _didn’t_ have to. After a gargle and a spit, the tap is turned off, and the footsteps retreat, going farther away until Hanzo hears the door open and shut. He’s alone once more. Just to be safe, he stays in the stall for another ten minutes. 

The idea leaving the bathroom makes him feel more on edge than before.

It’s foolish, he thinks, to feel so anxious. He is perfectly disguised - how much better can you get than being literally in a stranger's body? Even if he is discovered, and someone thinks he’s acting weird, what could happen? Tease him, perhaps? Maybe ask him if something is wrong? Nobody would ever believe the story that he swapped bodies with a complete stranger. No sane person would believe that he woke up this way, with no idea of why it is happening.

No point in being apprehensive, then. He lets his feet slide down from the walls and they land on the tile with a soft _tap_.

It was finally time to explore his location.

The hallway with all the bedrooms eventually links with another hallway, and at the connecting point there’s a winding stairway. There is what looks like a common area, with couches and a coffee table and a TV in a room right before the stairs. The door has been propped open, but it’s (thankfully) empty. The new hallway that continues after the stairs leads to more doorways that Hanzo has a feeling is simply more bedrooms and another exit point.

Going up the stairs rewards him with the warm embrace of natural sunlight. He presses up close to the window, squinting against the sun, and tried to make out any landmarks. There are cliffs, grass and flowers and pine trees. No signs or other buildings that he can take note of from this location. He raises a hand up to shield his eyes. _Were those mountains in the distance?_ He couldn’t tell for sure.

This is definitely not a university dorm - not one that he had ever seen.

The upstairs is a bit of a maze. He walks through winding corridors and sees what - via a quick peek through some double doors - seems like a small gymnasium, a western version of the dojo he and Genji often sparred and practised in back at their home.

He finds what looks to be barely used offices. There are lots of storage rooms, filled with boxes and lockers that he dares not snoop into while it’s day. There’s a room filled with computers, all whirring quietly away while in rest mode.

Someone has cooked food, for he can smell it wafting through the building. Hanzo’s stomach grumbles. He had hoped to sneak food out of the kitchen while no one was around, but he was unwilling to wait that long now that he has smelt breakfast.

There’s voices echoing down the hallway. He’s gotten closer to… whoever else lived here. Time to put on his serious face. Genji always called it his ‘resting Hanzo face’, whatever that meant. He felt like it was a reference to something, but didn’t bother to look into it. Perhaps, if he looked calm, stayed quiet, ate his food fast, and left immediately after they wouldn’t notice anything was different.

The hall opens up into a small atrium, and the moment he’s in view of the open eating area he knows it was a mistake.

“McCree!” A man barks at him, and Hanzo can only assume it’s himself that’s being referred to, since this dark, scowling man is glaring at him and walking straight towards him with fire in his eyes. He’s not sure if he should actually run or stay put. Hanzo nervously glances over at the crowd of people sitting around the kitchen table. They’re a small group; three men - four counting the one that had called him McCree - and a single woman are at the table. There is even a young girl sitting between the woman and the bearded giant of a man, and the resemblance was so strong that he knew the girl must be the woman’s daughter.

\- _And what kind of name was McCree?_ He wonders. It sounded made up. For the strangers sake, he hoped it was some kind of affectionate nickname, like his clan’s tendency to refer to Genji as _sparrow_.

The man grabs him by the ear and yanks down. Hanzo grunts with indignation, (and it hits him just how strange his voice _sounds_ ) but has no choice but to comply and ends up hunched over. He almost blurts out for the man to _let go_ in Japanese, but bites his tongue. He could endure the rough treatment for now.

“You’re late, _pendejo_.” The man hisses at him, and though he’s speaking English Hanzo can hear some kind of accent there that’s smoothed over from fluency. Unfortunately he has no clue what the last word means or what language it’s supposed to be from. It’s something he will remember to look up later.

“Where the hell were you? You missed breakfast _and_ our briefing - Did you sleep in or what?? I even sent Torbjörn down to see where you were, and he couldn’t find you. You’re going to make us all late -” At this point of yelling he lets go of Hanzo’s ear but it’s still stinging from the hard pinch it had gotten. Hanzo grimaces. It’s been many years since he has been chastised like a child. He doesn’t bother straightening back up, his embarrassment makes him want to stay hunched, as if it’d be any protection from this man’s fury.

“- What did I tell you yesterday?? I said to set an alarm so you’d be on time. Did you stay up all night goofing around again?”

Who even was this man? He’s still yelling at him, and Hanzo tunes it out to the background. He’s had enough lectures from his clan to be adept at this, though he knows Genji is much better at it than him. His hopes at being able to eat and quietly leave had also went up in flames, as it appears the stranger ( _McCree, he guesses he should start referring to the body he’s borrowing as an actual name_ ) had prior plans, and his paranoid hiding and skulking around the base had spit on all of that.

“- You hear me, McCree?”

The man snaps his fingers and Hanzo almost startles. He’d been spaced out too hard. He’s looking into this man’s stern expression, and it reminds him immediately of a look he’d receive from his own father when he was younger and more foolish. Perhaps some things were culturally universal? He feels like the man isn’t going to take silence for an answer, and what he replies back with now is pivotal. Though he has not met the owner of the body he’s borrowing, it would seem in bad taste to get him in trouble since Hanzo would get off consequence free once they swapped back.

Once and _when_ they swapped back. Not _if_. 

“…I apologise, Father, for being late.” Hanzo hesitantly says, trying to keep as much of the Japanese accent out of his English as possible. The ambient conversation from the table immediately cuts off while the adults turn their attention to him, and it gets so quiet Hanzo was sure he would be able to hear a feather touch the floor. The wave of self-consciousness hit him like a brick wall. Was his English that bad that they’d noticed? He was more than rusty; English was not a language he’d had to speak regularly. Was he being awkward? Not following the proper social cues? Westerners liked eye contact, didn’t they? He was sure to hold his steady.

“I will not make this mistake again.” He finishes, firmly. Tried to sound contrite.

The man is just staring at him, looking almost… confused? Startled? Which Hanzo considers a success, since either of those emotions were a much better outcome than angry. _Perhaps this McCree fellow was not one to easily apologise,_ he thinks, and it all starts to make sense. _No wonder everyone was surprised. I should be more stubborn in the future._

His presumed father opens his mouth to say something, and he hesitates, as if nervous. Hanzo doesn’t understand, but braces for whatever words are coming.

“Uh, yeah… Sure. Whatever.” He crosses his arms, and leans slightly backward, expression now turning contemplative. Then his eyes briefly flick over to where their audience is watching, and it all starts to feel a touch more awkward. Hanzo redirects his gaze to his feet.

“Listen, Jesse - “ He starts, and his voice is noticeably quieter.

“- Gabriel! “ Someone from the table calls, voice booming, and Hanzo looks up from his shoes to see who his saviour was. It was the giant man, with the scraggy beard and a scar on his brow that narrowly missed his left eye. He’s grinning ear to ear, like he’s in on some private joke.

“Give the boy some slack, eh? He said he’s sorry. I threw a plate for him in the microwave! Let him eat so we can get on with this day!”

The man - _Gabriel_ , Hanzo’s mind quietly corrected - looked annoyed that he was interrupted, but sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Fine. You get off for now. But when we get back today you’re going to be on kitchen cleaning duty. You hear me, McCree?”

The young girl at the table cheers, excited to be relieved of a chore.

Kitchen duty would not be too bad of a punishment. Hanzo figured he could take that as a success, considering how the whole exchange could have went down.

“I understand.” He replies.

“Come you two. Sit. Let the poor boy eat something.” The woman says, and Hanzo makes his way to the table and sits down, still feeling the awkward tension in the air. Gabriel returns to the table and resumes sipping at his cup of coffee. After he sits, the grinning blonde next to him gives him a brief nudge with his elbow. Gabriel swats him away with an annoyed grunt.

The plate is set in front of him, and Hanzo only eyeballs the food for a few moments before digging in. Of course he isn’t picky enough to deny any breakfast, American styled or not. It’s a fair and hearty spread; bread with jam, sausage, a chunk of cheese and scrambled eggs.

“Good, eh? It was my turn to cook!” The giant’s voice is a near shout, even when the person he’s talking to is only a foot away. “Everything turned out perfect! Try the eggs - they’re organic!”

“Ja ja, we all know y’did a good job.” The dwarf retorts sourly. “Yeh don’t have to rub it in.”

“My little friend, do not tell me you are still upset about burning supper yesterday??” The giant booms. There’s an undercurrent of amusement that showed that he knew this was exactly what the dwarf was upset about.

The dwarf smacked his fist against the table, making all the silverware jump.

“I warned ya, I’m only good at cookin’ breakfast!”

“Torbjörn, the casserole was literally on fire.” The blond man was hiding his grin behind his mug.

“I bet you that I could do better!” The child chimes in, and this seems to prompt the woman to finally stand and give both men a light smack on the head. Her daughter is spared the rough treatment.

“Children, behave.” She scolds. Hanzo feels her attention snap to him. 

“Do you want tea or coffee?” The woman asks, turning to grab the kettle and a cup.

Hanzo nods, swallowing his mouthful of toast before speaking.

“Tea, please.”

There’s a few more surprised looks thrown his way. He must have chosen wrong. But it was too late to go back on it now. He should’ve guessed that McCree would prefer coffee. With his luck, the American probably took it black too. _Disgusting_.

It’s like the woman guesses his thoughts, as she gives him a knowing smile.

“An improvement, I’d say.” She says as she sets the steaming cup in front of him. “A change every once in a while is good.”

“Thank you.” He replies and takes a whiff of the steam rising up from the cup. It’s not a blend he’s had before. It looks to be an oolong tea, and smelled almost as soap. He sips his tea and eats his eggs and sausage in small, polite bites. Conversation gradually starts up again, and Hanzo lets it flow around him, happy for the excuse to refrain from participating. When he finished his plate, he’s left awkwardly sitting in place, staring down at his empty cup, wanting an excuse to leave the table. Hanzo would take anything. The longer he’s in the company of these people, the higher the chance he’ll slip up again.

There’s a poke at his elbow. The little girl is staring at him like he’s some kind of alien, some odd bug pinned in place.

“Are you okay?” She asks. “You’re acting weird.” She leans towards him, frowning suspiciously. Hanzo feels himself start to sweat under her gaze. Girl was intimidating for a child, must get it from her mother.

“Y-yes, of course - “ He starts, but she shoves the back of her hand against his forehead and he stops talking.

“He’s warm.” She announces to the table. She sniffs the air. “And you smell.”

What? He smelled? Was it his clothes? Did this McCree person not do his laundry regularly? Hanzo sniffed at his sleeve. He can feel his neck getting hot. He was sure that he never got this easily flustered in his normal body.

“Hush Fareeha! Don’t be rude.” The mother snaps, and her tone brooks no argument. She also reaches across the table to place a hand against his face. Hanzo itches at the contact, longs to draw back from these strangers. But appearances need to be upheld. He tries not to grimace and holds still.

The mother hums and stares straight into his eyes. She seems frustratingly astute. Hanzo breaks the eye contact after only a second.

She hums, gives his cheek a light pap before withdrawing.

“You are a bit warm.” She slowly says, and her child next to her pipes up an irritatingly smug ‘I told you so.’ The mother, to her credit, ignores it.

“ - And, you’re a bit flushed. Are you feeling alright, dear?”

It feels like she’s peering into his soul. Hanzo in that moment feels sympathy for McCree. Whatever this place was, between the dark man with the beanie (Who he still wasn’t sure on being his father or not) and the motherly Arabic woman, he doubts McCree was able to get away with anything. Nothing would stay private here for long. This gives him double the reason to try to fit in.

“I’m okay.” He replies quietly. The woman and his father exchanged a quick look. Gabriel slightly lifts his chin. The woman nods.

“Alright.” She says. She taps on her daughter and gets her to stand. “You’re not coming with us today. Take the day off and rest up in the Medbay. Fareeha, please lead Jesse down to Angela. I worry he won’t make it, otherwise.”

“Yes, Mom.”

The girl pushes in her chair and hops a few metres away before looking back at him impatiently.

“Come on!”

Hanzo gets up and knocks the table with his legs - he’s not used to being this tall yet, and his haste is making him clumsy. Trying to save face, he silently nods his goodbye at the table before following after the girl ( _Fareeha_ , he had to make an effort to remember all their names) with quick strides.

Once out of earshot of the others, the girl starts talking to him a mile a minute.

“I’m glad you get to stay back! I thought I’d be at the base all alone today.” She grins at him, and does a little spin mid-step.

“If Angie doesn’t mind, maybe I can come hang out with you!! We can finish off our movie marathon! Last night I fell asleep early, so we need to re-watch _Aliens_. I know you said its kind-of scary, but it’s daytime now, so that should make it easier, right?”

She screws up her face and waves a hand in front of her nose.

“You really should shower first though, ’cause I don’t think I could sit next to you for long the way you are right now. What is with you today? You are acting really weird. I was lying when I said your head felt warm, but Mum said you were, so I guess I was right after all. Do you actually feel sick?”

For a frantic moment he tries to think of how to reply in a proper _McCree-like_ -fashion, ( _would he lie or put on airs and overdramatise it?_ ) but she didn’t pause long enough for him to answer, and segued off into another tangent as she brought him through the oversized labyrinth that was this building.

Hanzo let her lead, and comfortably let himself float back into the still pool of his thoughts.

He couldn’t complain about how things were going. He had handled speaking to the strangers somewhat well, and seemed to have spared McCree any severe punishment. That, he could accept with a hint of pride. He wouldn’t have minded the chance to get out of the building with the adults and learn more about his situation (and location), but seeing how awkward his brief breakfast encounter with them was, it was probably for the best that he got shoved away to the medbay. He’d have to do research, especially if this kept happening.

As fantastical as this was, it was slightly soured by his annoyance at its inconvenience. He was a busy man, with many more responsibilities since his father passed a couple months ago. He knew Genji wouldn’t be any help while he’s away, and he in all honesty had no time or patience for this. But, it seemed that he would have to put up with it to the best of his ability, and play his part as best as he was able since it couldn’t be helped. The switching is out of his hands.

Though, as far as outcomes go, this was pretty lucky. The company of young Fareeha would not be too intolerable. Getting out of work to watch movies with her was a lucky break. That, at least, had to be acknowledged. He could rest up for the day, wait this _condition_ out while _mostly_ in solitude.

Hanzo could only hope his body-swapped counterpart was doing the same.


	2. McCree I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree spends the day screwing around with no fear of consequences while Genji is more astute than typically given credit for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again. All the translations are likely incorrect as I don't speak Japanese, but I tried utilizing the internet as best as I could. I'll probably have to re-edit a bunch of things, I tend to do most of my writing in the early hours of the morning so mistakes are likely present. Whoops.
> 
> As always, I'm sorrrryyyyy

Jesse McCree doesn’t believe in the supernatural. Old wives tales, superstitions, magic; none of it had done anything for him. None of it helped him in his youth, and it certainly didn’t give him any help once he got dragged into joining Deadlock, and later Overwatch. He prefers the cautionary tales of his superiors, a long list of; always keep your back to a wall, always sleep with your gun within reach and your eyes facing the door. Such practical things had helped him better than believing in the supernatural ever did. 

So upon waking up without the familiar blare of an alarm clock, he sees the afternoon light through the window and has a brief moment of crisis - _he’s late, he’s late, the Commander is going to kill him_ \- but then notices the unfamiliar surroundings and his panic slowly suffocates under the assuredness that he’s dreaming. He wasn’t important enough to kidnap, he wasn’t old enough to drink - and the Commander would kill him if he caught him partaking, anyhow- and last time he checked, the Overwatch outposts were pretty secure.

The only rational conclusion was that it was a dream. Just an elaborate, extremely lifelike, lucid dream.

 _A lucid dream… I haven’t had one in ages._

And a dream would be the only way to explain how weird everything was. He wasn’t even lying in a normal bed. It’s a Queen size, but feels really flat, too close to the floor. The ceiling is wood and some kind of woven looking material, and the walls are more wood and paneling in light colours. He knows it’s Asian in style, but has no clue of the proper names. Similarly, the floor is covered by what looks like a bunch of woven mats with fancy cloth borders. 

Strange that his lucid dream would be Asian themed. He had never been to any of those countries before.

Eh, he wasn’t complaining.

Rolling around in bed while dozing got old fairly quickly, no matter how silky smooth the sheets were. Being part of a militarised group of people that all praised the virtue of early rising helped make him feel like sleeping in was a cardinal sin, and now lying idle for too long in bed made him restless. He lay with his head on the pillow and wonders how long it would be until he woke up for real. They were supposed to go on a simple retrieval mission today to some town in Mexico. If he was late again, the Commander would kill him. He hadn’t had a good track record recently - Fareeha had kept recruiting him after bedtime to watch action movies with her, and he hadn’t the heart to refuse the little lady.

Grunting, he rubs at his eyes and sits up, blanket sliding off of him. Then, freezes, dead stop, to stare at his hands.

They weren’t _his_ hands. Skin was the wrong colour. Nails were actually clean and neatly cut. His fingers had calluses that definitely weren’t from the rough few times he had attempted to play Torbjörn’s guitar.

He ain’t never had a dream where the body wasn’t his own. Odd. But refreshing.

Naturally, his pajamas are not what he remembers going to sleep in. The shirt is fine fabric patterned with overlapping semicircles styled like waves, they sweep down the long drooping sleeves while the front is neatly folded over and tied like a robe.

A fancy housecoat? Who wears a housecoat to sleep? McCree pulls loose the robe and yanks it open. There’s no shirt underneath. Sleeping in just a housecoat? His dream-self was a barbarian.

There’s something on his shoulder. His dream-self had tattoos now? He yanks his left arm free and _stares._

Tattoos were popular in Deadlock. Typical stuff, skulls and guns and nude women were all very common. Some guys got their kill counts tallied on their body in tiny black lines until their entire limb is covered. This was much more detailed than any of that - McCree had never seen such intricate design on a tattoo. It was a dragon; long like a snake, majestic and fierce, crawling down from his shoulder and coiling around the arm until its head stops, snarling, at the wrist. It rests atop a bed of dark storm clouds, sharp lightning linking them in a dark gold while the rest of the tattoo is inked in shades of shadow blue. McCree had always thought the long thin style of Asian dragons made them seem wimpy when compared to their western counterparts. This one at least, seemed to be somewhat capable of destruction.

Awestruck, McCree traces the dragon with a finger from shoulder to wrist. Touching it feels electrifying, like there’s a current running under his skin, waiting - no - begging to be tapped into. It makes him feel impatient, like he needs to move, like he needs a revolver in his hand and a target to aim for. It must all be in his mind - it’s the impressive ink making him feel like a big tough-guy.

He whistles; how did his own imagination come up with something like this?

 _Ms.Amari always said dreams were symbolic of somethin’ or other,_ he thinks. _Maybe I’m gonna visit Japan and take out some bad-ass assassin named ‘the dragon’, become a legend to the people and get a tattoo so I’ll always remember it._

Pah. Not fucking likely. But it was nice to dream.

_Heh, dream._

It was difficult to drag his fingers away from tracing over the tattoo, but he managed to pull his hand back. Then it happened to brush upon much more welcome targets. McCree looks down, only staring in surprise for a moment at his chest before moving his hands up over his pectorals. _This dream body is somethin' else._ Then he _squeezed._

They felt good. No. They felt _amazing._ McCree was certain he’d never seen such an amazing chest on a man. Firm, yet graspable. Muscular, yet plush. They weren’t feminine in the slightest, not at all like the girls he’s been with _(a steady weight in his palms, yet soft as pillows)_ but definitely good in their own way. They’re captivating in their uniqueness. He couldn’t stop rubbing at them - God above, he could do this all day.

He was struck with the realisation that he had no idea of the appearance of his dream face. If his chest was this excellent, he could hardly imagine what the rest of him looked like. It’s a very real possibility that his mind constructed this body out of his own preferences and fantasies. It’s too tempting of a possibility to ignore.

There’s an ornate standing mirror off in the corner of the room. McCree practically jumps out of bed to rush towards it.

Staring back at him in the mirror is the most beautiful man McCree ever had the honour of seeing.

Now, McCree knew his normal body was pretty well off in terms of attractiveness. Young, fit and fairly strong from all the training he’d been put through in the name of Overwatch. A bit scruffy, but there’s some charm in that. At least he hoped there was.

But this dream body was something else.

Warm brown eyes watched him from the looking glass. His heart skipped a beat in his chest, heat rushing to his cheeks. It was foolish, yes, stupid for him to feel this way over some figment of his imagination, over some fake person with a diamond face and high cheekbones. Dare he think it, he looked almost regal. He chuckles - him, in any way a blue blood?

 _Dunno how exactly Ms.Amari’s dream readings can translate that,_ he thinks with a touch of self-deprecation.

Inadvertently, his mind echoes the punchline of an old joke back at him; _Reyes means ‘Kings’, you know._

McCree quickly shakes his head in an attempt to disrupt his thoughts and feels his hair slip forward over his shoulder. His attention snaps to it.

Long. His dream self’s hair was _long._ Silky straight and black as a crow’s wing all the way to his shoulder blades, tied low with some brightly coloured silk tie. McCree slowly reaches up to touch it. Undid the tie, and ran his fingers through the strands multiple times, just to feel it. His own natural hair was always short and wild. He refused to shave it off into a buzz-cut (even though the Commander always threatened to make him do it), and often had it hidden under his trusty Stetson hat anyhow. His dream-self had much more beautiful hair. Smooth, no tangles, even though he just got out of bed. Well, it was a dream. Only natural that it was unrealistic.

Speaking of which, it was about time he got better acquainted with his dream self. Become more… comfortable with it, as it were.

He slides out of the weird bath robe and pants, lets the full thing drop to the floor. Clad only in his underwear and a simple necklace he stands, hands on his hips, and angles his body from side to side. He’s short - it’s almost cute, really - but ripped. Besides the arms and the impressive pecs, he traces his hands down to feel a toned body with the slight grooves of defined abs. It wasn’t nearly as bulky as Reinhardt, Morrison or Reyes, but they were on a completely different planet anyway when it came to physical fitness. He wasn’t sure how they did it, but whenever he asked what steroids they had injected to get to how they were, their only answer was a smack to the back of the head and an order to _drop and give them twenty._ It increased by ten every time he pushed the issue. Eventually he stopped asking.

All in all, McCree would rate his dream self as _hot as fuck._ Damn. He points double finger guns at his reflection and treats himself to a coy grin. Jutted out his leg and struck a pose. Fuck, how could a single person be so _attractive?_ A shame he’d probably never have this experience again. McCree sighed; watched his reflection deflate into a more reserved expression. Even worse, he highly doubted he’d even remember any of this once morning came. Even if his dream during a normal night was a nightmare, he’d always forget it a few minutes after waking up.

Might as well make the best of it while he could.

There’s a bathroom connected to his room, and really why shouldn’t there be? He would expect his dream to have the highest quality of facilities. He peeks in, and immediately zeroes in on the giant marble tub. It could fit at least three people, he was sure. McCree concentrates, eyes squeezed shut, trying to visualise a bath partner into being. It’s a lucid dream, he should be able to force changes upon this reality. He waits a few seconds, then opens his eyes with hope in his chest. Nothing. No pretty girl or cute guy nude and ready for the bath.

_Disappointing._

A stand-up shower is in the corner of the bathroom, and McCree is torn between practicality or being a wasteful bastard and having a good time, even if he has to do it alone. Being a wasteful bastard won out - hey, it was his dream, he could be as selfish as he wants. He closes off the drain with a simple knob and turns the taps on blast.

McCree wanders back into the bedroom and opens up a set of flat sliding double doors to reveal a large closet. _Filled with more fancy bathrobes._ Now he knows it’s all fake. No one real would own that many robes. They were all elaborate in a variety of patterns, colours and varying degrees of fancy, but unless he was the owner of some kind of sketchy mansion filled with supermodels (which, regretfully, he was not) there was no need for such an amount. Near the back of the closet he finds dress shirts and dress pants along with a rack of ties hung up to avoid wrinkles. McCree rolls his eyes. He wasn’t dressing up in a dream for no reason.

Exiting the closet, he decides to make due with whatever is in the chest of drawers.

He digs through and opens each drawer, finds underwear, socks of various lengths, more stuff like the clothes he woke up in, and a precious few pairs of jeans, sweatpants, and some shirts. McCree grabs one of each and hopes for the best. He stacks it up into a pile on his arm and walks back to the bathroom. Slides the door closed. Drops the pile of clothes onto a counter. Shimmies out of his underwear, unclasps the necklace and drops it on the counter (couldn't have his hair getting tangled in it) and steps into the tub.

It’s bliss. He hums in pleasure and sinks down up to his neck. The shared washrooms back at the base didn’t have bathtubs. Even if this is all fake, it sure as hell felt real. _How peculiar._

Whatever. He drops his head back and closes his eyes, let himself drift away into the silence and heat of the bath. Absently, one hand wandered its way back up to his chest while the other dipped into the bathwater.

…Only to be abruptly interrupted by a yell and the sound of sharp knocking against wood.

McCree jolted up, tub water sloshing over the side as he startled.

_What the…?_

His annoyance at being interrupted rears its head first. _What kind of rude entity had a place in his lucid dream?_

The person, whoever it is, knocks again, says something, and then he hears the distant sound of a sliding door. Light feet - very light feet, perhaps a woman? - walking around his room.

McCree’s on edge, though he chalks it up to instinct over anything else. He’s sitting unarmed in a bath tub, with no real escape route outside of how he came in, with some stranger seconds away from finding him while effectively blocked into a corner. _But none of this is real._ He has no reason to be worried. It was all a lucid dream. Besides, even if he does get murdered, he’ll just wake up safe in his bed back at base. Easy.

Feeling a new wave of confidence, Jesse McCree sinks back down in the tub and slicks back his ( _beautiful, long, fragrant-_ ) hair.

There’s a knock at the bathroom door, rapid and impatient.

He calls out, loud and ready as he’ll ever be. Grin ever present on his face - even if it feels a little stiff in this body - head resting in a hand.

“Come in!”

  


McCree wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see once the door opened. He had hoped it would be some cute honey a few minutes late from his attempts to imagine one into being. This was all a dream. He was optimistic about whatever lay in wait for him.

Some kid with bright green hair is standing in the doorway.

McCree’s first thought is; _the hair_. It couldn’t have been more neon if someone had poured highlighter ink onto it. His next thought is: _Why this kid in my dream_? He couldn’t be more disappointed if he tried.

The newcomer is wearing clothes like the stuff in his closet. A robe in white with orange designs, reaching mid-thigh and billowy white pants tucked away underneath. There’s slippers on his feet.

Well, he couldn’t exactly call him a _kid_. If McCree had to guess, he’d place him somewhere in his teens, youth makes his face look fresh and unburdened from worries. They were probably fairly close in age, even if by experiences they were likely far apart.

The teen is looking at him, his eyes are crinkled playfully. Then starts to speak in short, flowing sentences; McCree can make out something that sounds like knee, and then it lilts up with a ‘ _wah_ ’ somewhere along the way and ends with a ‘ _kah_ ’. It’s gibberish to him, and all he can do stare blankly at the teen. It didn’t make much sense that the newcomer would be speaking in a language that he himself didn’t understand, but then again, not much of this lucid experience was adding up to be quite rational. Hadn’t he heard somewhere that everything you see in a dream is just a reimagining of things you’ve seen before in your waking life? Tonight, it didn’t seem to be the case.

“Pardon me stranger, but I don’t know a lick of what you’re saying. “ He grins lazily and lounges back onto his elbows, being careful not to spill bathwater everywhere. “Do you happen to know any English? O español? That’s all I can manage.”

Greenie raises a black eyebrow, says a long string of syllables that starts with ‘die’ and once again ends with ‘kah’.

McCree laughs and shrugs.

“Sorry partner. Don’t understand you. I don’t know if you’re speaking Chinese, Japanese, Taiwanese, Mongolian, Korean, Russian, well, you probably ain’t speaking Russian.”

The teen looks even more confused if it was possible. He opens his mouth, closes it, and taps two fingers against his chin. He makes a sound like an _uhhhhh_ , and McCree was thankful that at least that surpassed language barriers.

“Ah, my English is… okay. The internet has given me practise.”

Now this was something he could understand, even if he didn’t like the sound of that last part. Whether Greenie was rough with it or not, it was better than them not understanding each other at all.

“It’s fine, I read you loud and clear.” When Greenie looks like he’s pulling a blank, he clarifies with; “I understand you.”

Greenie nods and goes to lean against the bathroom counter. He taps his fingers against the marble. _Tap tap tap_. McCree wants to snap at him to stop it, but he feels like he has no real power here. The dream really was taking a turn for the worse.

“Brother, are you feeling alright?” The stranger hesitantly asks.

McCree blinks.

“Brother? I have a dream brother now? I was hopin’ that some cute guy or gal would show up. Not some young punk with highlighter hair.”

“Real mature brother, you think you would come up with a better joke than me not existing? And Highlighter hair?” Greenie bristles. “I told you before, the girls love it!”

“Not any girls I’ve ever met.” McCree retorts, relishing in the other’s growing pique.

“What girls? You’ve only been meeting with Masuyo-chan for the past two years. You haven’t even seen her since father passed away.” Greenie is scowling.

“I have no idea what you are talking about. I’ve been with tons of girls - and guys, too.” He drawls; he didn’t often get the chance to flaunt his experience. A lot of the older members would just tease him ( _as if he was too young to understand sex,_ ), Angela was above talking about such things ( _at least towards him; he suspected she still saw him as a classless ruffian_ ), Fareeha was too young ( _Ms.Amari would kill him for corrupting her daughter even more than he already has_ ), and Jefe would almost regard him pityingly if he brought it up, which did nothing more than bring heat to his face and make him angry. As if his fun was something to be pitied. McCree knew what he had been getting into, and he had enjoyed every moment of it.

“I was infamous, you know.” He continues, “‘ _The young gunslinger from Santa Fe’_ , nobody turned down my friendly company.”

This wasn’t entirely true, but an imaginary teenager didn’t need to know that.

Internally, he wonders over the little information the other had dropped. Masuyochan? Was that a girl name or a boy name? It sounded more like a playdate the way Greenie said it, which means it was probably an arranged marriage with some girl. Unappealing in every sense. Did that mean his dream self was straight?

And what, his dream father is dead?

 _Well_ , he thinks, _their dream father_. McCree feels vaguely insensitive when he realises he’s more upset about his body being straight than the loss of some unknown imaginary family member.

He squirts out some shampoo into his hand - at least he hopes it’s shampoo, he can’t read the label, but it smells good enough - and starts lathering it into his hair while the fake teen watches; the poor boy seems stupefied.

“What?” He asks. Greenie is looking at him like Fareeha did when he tried to convince her that ‘ _True Grit_ ’ was better than the third remake of ‘ _The Avengers_ ’, except she knew deep down that he wasn’t actually crazy.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Did you eat anything weird lately?”

McCree dunks back under and starts to rinse out the suds.

“No.” He replies. “Besides Torbjörn burning last night’s casserole. But I’ve eaten worse. And Jefe secretly made pizza for everyone after so - “

The teen has crossed the bathroom and is by his side in a blink, craning back his head and prying up his eyelids to peer at his pupils. McCree smacks him away, flopping back in the bath. Water and bubbles go sloshing over the side.

“What are y’doin’?” He snaps.

“Anija -“ Greenie’s eyes are wide and his face is soft and worried. “Are you okay? Have you been poisoned? I can go fetch a nurse, just wait here - “

McCree has to lean half out of the tub to grab the teen’s wrist before he dashes out of the room.

“Stop! I told ya, I’m fine. Why are you so freaked out?” It would seem that playing along might be the best option, unless he wants to spend his whole lucid experience in bed being poked at by a nurse. He huffs and forces what he hopes looks like a weary smile. “I’m - I’m fine, alright? Just… a little tired.”

“You are not making any sense!” Greenie yanks his arm free. It didn’t take much effort seeing how McCree’s hand was slick from bathwater and soap. “It is as though…” He stops, and gives McCree a gauging look. Greenie tilts his head slightly to the side. Then with lightning movements too fast for McCree to track, he grabs a bar of soap from by the sink and chucks it at him. It smacks McCree right in the cheek and lands with a small splash into the bathwater.

“Ack!” McCree yelps. “The hell was that for?” He grabs the bar and throws it back.

Greenie is laughing, and like the insufferable little sibling he was, managed to dodge the bar expertly and caught it in his left hand. He then placed it back by the sink.

“I apologise, Anija.” He says with a growing grin, and McCree thinks that this word sounds a lot more natural from Greenie than saying brother. He hopes he isn’t being made fun of. “I was mistaken. It seems you are in good health after all. Are you hungry? We could go out for ramen. You missed breakfast and lunch. You must be hungry.”

Now that it was mentioned, he was hungry. Ravenous, even.

“Starvin’.” He said.

“Then get ready and we’ll go immediately.” The teen says, and with a wink, he’s gone.

McCree turns back on the tap and rinses off, dries himself with a towel and shoves on the underwear jeans and socks. After rooting through the various bathroom cabinets, though he found combs, hair gels and sprays, cologne, toothpaste and a toothbrush, he couldn’t find any deodorant.

“Hey Greenback!” He yells. “Do you have any deodorant? There’s none here.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Is the yell back. There’s a hint of humor there, but hell if he knows what the teen finds so funny.

McCree shrugs. What harm could it do?

Out of all his personal hygiene, he takes the most care with his hair. It seems to be naturally straight but he runs the comb through it anyway, relishing in its length. It’s almost enough to make him consider growing out his normal hair. But then he remembers the tangles and mats it would form after a few days of sleeping in the dirt and bleeding into it from head wounds.

_Nah. Too much work._

He returns to his room with his hair slicked back and still dripping, leaving damp patches spreading down the back of his shirt. Greenie is sitting on his bed, cross-legged.

“Yo!” He smiles. “Ready to go?”

McCree follows the teen through the huge estate they called a home, though it was more like a castle than anything else. The level of wealth that they seemed to have amassed was a crime, and from the point of view of a previously homeless gang-member, it was one. Vases and statues were placed around the castles many rooms and corridors in a way that seemed almost methodical, while the walls had paintings and hangings that shone with gold thread. They even passed upon some fancy-ass chiseled mural, spanning the entire length of a wall. No time to stare and take it all in, Greenie was walking fast; weaving around hired domestics and jumping over decorative plants as they traveled from floor to floor. The stairs seem to be going on forever; how many stories was this castle?

“Hurry up, Anija!” Greenie calls over his shoulder. “We don’t want to be stopped by anyone. People were wondering this morning if you were sick.”

“Alright alright, I’m coming.” McCree huffs, but quickens his pace.

  


They end up going to a restaurant called Rikimaru that was not far from the castle. Above the door, a giant green space alien is comically slurping up noodles from a dish. Greenie ducks under the felt strips in the doorway, and McCree hears a round of cheers. He ducks in after him and the patrons quieten. He blinks and adjusts to the darker lighting of the restaurant, and sees the few other customers avert their gaze from him.

_Weird._

Greenie is sitting at the counter, and he pats the stool next to him. McCree goes to sit. He looks at the menus. Of course they’re all in squiggly foreign letters. There were pictures next to the menu items and numbers that he assumed was the prices. It didn’t seem correct. What ramen was worth thousands of dollars? Better be the best fucking ramen he’d ever tasted.

“Anija, what do you want to order?” Greenie waves his hand to the menus. McCree shrugs. Not like he can read it anyway.

“You pick, cucumber. I don’t care much.”

“Ah? Very well.” Greenback sticks out his hand and a man in an apron leans over the counter attentively. Greenie says something to him, and the man nods hurriedly and writes something quickly on a slip of paper. He bows and withdraws to the kitchen.

Their food arrives fairly quickly by the same server with a forced smile, even though McCree was certain that there were other people who had been waiting for their meal when they had arrived who were still waiting now. He shrugs and reaches for his cutlery. There was no fork, no knife, no spoon. All he had was two wooden sticks. He gives them a dirty look. Next to him, Greenie picks up half an egg with his pair of chopsticks.

“Am I able to get a spoon or fork, partner?” He asks. “I don’t fancy having to stab at my noodles while this hungry. I’ve no patience for these things - I was at a Chinese food place once that only had chopsticks and I ended up having t’use my fingers.”

McCree sticks out a hand like Greenie had done a few minutes ago. A waiter is at his side immediately.

“Hey there.” He starts, “Do y’all happen to have any forks or knives? I’d really appreciate it.” The waiter’s unflappable service industry expression starts to waver the farther into the sentence he got.

“Fork? Knife? Please? Por favor?”

The waiter is pulling a blank; his eyes are darting nervously between the two of them. He can practically see the poor man start to sweat from fear. Or perhaps it was just the awkwardness of the situation. Either way, he had never seen a waiter look so anxious. McCree feels a twinge of frustration. Speaking English is turning out to be mostly useless. _What a weird dream_.

Greenie starts laughing, and says a blip to the perspiring waiter. The waiter says something in return to Greenie, who replies back equally as mirthful. The waiter is smiling now, and nods, bows, and retreats. He returns with a knife and fork, which McCree gladly accepts. They order seconds, and McCree gets thirds.

Finally full and satisfied, he stacks their bowls and waits for the bill; then is horrified when he pats his pockets and feels no wallet. Of course he doesn’t have any money on him. He feels like an idiot for not searching his room for something before they left. He goes to voice this to his companion, but Greenie is already getting up, pushing in his stool and heading for the door.

“Cabbage-head, where are you going? What about payment?”

Greenie waves at him dismissively.

“Trust me, we don’t need to worry about it. And don’t call me that. Call me Shimada-dono.”

“No, that’s too hard to remember. I prefer cabbage-head. -And seriously? We really don’t need to pay?” That sounded too good to be true, even for a dream.

McCree tries to motion over a member of the staff, but they’re all avoiding his gaze.

“Of course!” Greenie exclaims. “We’re practically royalty, after all.”

“Wow, okay. If you say so, partner.” He wasn’t gonna turn down free food. 

Perhaps they have a running tab already at this place. Greenie was confident, and nobody was angrily yelling at them to come back and pay, so it must be okay.

By this point, Greenie is already out of the establishment and on the streets. McCree hurries to catch up with him. They fall into step, Greenie pointing out buildings and saying what they were, asking his preference on where to go next.

“Don’t matter to be none.” He says. “I just want t’have a good time.”

“Is this permission to take control of our activities for today? All of them? I warn you, I can go all night” Greenback wiggles his eyebrows and there’s a new bounce to his step. He seems very much like some matter of mischievous sprite, with his green hair and quick movements. The heavy meal hasn’t slowed him down at all. McCree is surprised that anyone could be so happy at the prospect of planning an outing - and with him, no less. It strikes him that it’s been a long time since he’s hung out with anyone even close to his age. (He supposes he can’t count Angela even though they were born the same year; her professionalism has added at least ten years to her age.)

“Sure. You’re the spirit guide.” McCree replies. Greenie beams at him and grabs him by the arm.

“I know just where to start.”

  


The first place the teen brings him is an arcade. From wall to wall the place is stacked with video games. Arcade cabinets have everything from retro classics to fancy new titles that he had never seen before. There are posters of current and upcoming movies on the walls, along with popular video game characters. The place is loud and flashy, neon lights and even brighter holographic screens all fighting for his attention all at once.

Greenie is eagerly awaiting his reaction, like a child giving a gift and watching it be unwrapped, hoping to have pleased.

“Wow.” He says. “This is, uh, this sure is something.”

“Amazing, isn’t it? This place has everything! I hold the high scores on almost everything here. Come, take a look around and see if there is anything you would like to play.” He walks off down a row of rhythm games. People look up when he passes by, and wave, point, or call out in excited cheers. Greenie alternates giving high fives or fist bumps as he walks by. Some cute girls in coordinated outfits giggle and wave at him- high schoolers perhaps?

“Genji-kun!!” They call out, and it’s the only thing he can make out from the feminine trills of ‘wa’ sounds that tumbled from their mouths. Greenback winks in return. They squeal, hands coming up to cover their faces.

“You’re pretty popular, huh?” McCree states. And damn if he doesn’t feel a little jealous if he’s being honest with himself. _Didn’t have much time to rub elbows with friends when you’re a punk on the streets_. Being popular or infamous in Deadlock was not something you wanted to be. Painted a bigger target on your back than being weak, and people already picked on him enough for joining so young.

“Yeah. You could say that. Like I said, I spend a lot of time in here. Everyone knows me. Everyone knows _us_.”

Greenie looks back to him, thoughtful. He glances about the room.

“Any games here you think you can play? You can choose what we play first.”

At once, the sounds and lights became overwhelming. He wouldn’t even know where to begin. McCree shook his head.

“I haven’t that much experience with games you know.” He says. “You pick.”

Greenie drags him over to two dance mats hooked up to a single screen. The mats had arrows pointing up, down left and right, and then the 4 diagonals.

“This’ll be easy for you to learn.” He swipes the machine with a card from his pocket and taps at the screen to scroll through a bunch of options.

“It’s a rhythm game. You watch what shows up on screen and step on the correct arrows. Got it?”

“Yeah. Not rocket science Greenie. I’ve seen these before.” Fareeha liked these kind of games, though the version she had was outdated as compared to this version in the arcade.

He starts up a song on what McCree guessed was on easy, though by the time they were through two songs he was starting to feel warm. By six songs he was sweating. A small crowd had started to gather around them, though McCree figured it was probably from Greenback’s influence more than anything else. The crowd edges them on, and they try a song on the highest difficulty. Greenie has no problem keeping up of course, even throwing in fancy arm movements, cocky bastard even goes back on to the screen to show off to their entourage. He still manages to complete the song with five stars.

McCree is having trouble keeping up. Every time he misses an arrow his side of the screen flashes MISS while his stamina meter goes down. He ends up flailing his limbs wildly in an attempt to hit the more complicated step sequence, and it doesn’t help in the slightest. His meter in game keeps going down and down until it hits the red zone.

GAME OVER flashes on his side of the screen, in both English and the foreign letters. Gasping, he doubles over catch his breath. His ponytail flops over to smack him in the face.

Greenie next to him manages to complete the final song and the crowd cheers. He wipes his sleeve across his brow, then puts his hand on McCree’s shoulder. When he looks up, Greenie takes him by the arm and yanks him back up to standing straight, and gives him a companionable clap on the back.

“Are you okay, Anija?” He asks, grin ever present. Greenie is practically glowing, basking in the praise of his friends and the thrill of victory. “You seem a little tired.”

“Hah, of course I’m okay. I went easy on you.”

“Uh huh.” Greenback’s smirking. McCree playfully shoves him away.

“What now?” he asks.

“Well, now that you’re warmed up, I say you choose. Pick something you have a chance of winning at, so that it’s a challenge for me.”

“Now you’re getting too cocky.” McCree laughs and scans the area for anything that calls out to him. No dice. Everything is too loud and busy for him to guess at gameplay, and what he can make out he doesn’t recognise from his limited experience. The large holographic pong game is still free but he has no confidence in his table-tennis skill. The one time he tried against Fareeha in the common area of the base he got completely destroyed - he made a point to never bet money on winning games against Fareeha ever again. Girl was vicious when struck with the competitive spirit.

Stick to what you know. That’s what Ms.Amari would have told him to do. Keep it simple. What could he do? His only major skill was his marksmanship.

An idea struck him as sudden as a gunshot. The answer was obvious. He wished he had his hat available so he could tip it up, all smooth -like. For now, he had to make due with a shit-eating smirk.

“Alright cabbage-patch. Y’got any shooting games here?”

  


Turns out, there _were_ shooting games in the arcade. Not just ones with a joystick, but ones where you aim with plastic guns at targets on a screen and through some motion-tracking tech, accurately renders the bullet trajectory.

Greenie is good at the game, better than average, for sure. He doesn’t hesitate for long when a target flashes up, and his hand doesn’t shake when aiming or switching targets. But unfortunately for him, McCree has been trained extensively since the age of ten with the real thing. Greenie had no hopes of beating the young cowboy with a deadeye.

The real kicker was McCree getting the top high score, and getting to punch in his name, victorious, while Greenie stands stunned behind him.

“Beginners luck?” He says it in a teasing way, but they both know that it was fair and square, even while Greenback’s fans bemoan their hero’s fall from grace from the top of the high scores list.

It also doesn’t stop Greenie from requesting three rematches, and another round on a different game cabinet with similar mechanics on the other end of the arcade.

McCree won every match, and finally Greenie gave in and conceded victory.

It was then that he declares loudly that he is done with the arcade, and after waving goodbye to his friends, ushers McCree out into the dark evening and down the street into a low-lit building. McCree stops short in the doorway once he sees the drinking patrons inside and smells the strong scent of cigarette smoke. It’s the fear of reprimand that stops him, the spiritual presence of a heavy handed commander that didn’t tolerate bad habits fostered by gang members.

Greenie gives him a questioning look. Despite them blocking the way for many customers, no one was making a move to pass them, and instead waited politely, gazes averted.

“Hold up there cowboy. Are you legal? Are we even allowed to go in?” McCree presses. The other doesn’t look over the age of sixteen. Then he realises that it’s a stupid question to ask, considering the fact that it was all supposed to be a dream.

For a lucid dream, it sure had been happening for a long time. Maybe dream-hours didn’t correspond one-to-one with real time hours; otherwise he’d be sleeping in back at the base. The rest of the crew would kill him.

Greenie snickered, and McCree jolted back to attention.

“Trust me,” he says, “there’s nothing _we’re_ not allowed to do.” He puts the stress on the ‘we’re’ like one would say the name of a king. It brought to mind celebrities who skipped lines in restaurants and corporate tycoons who could wave away the petty inconveniences of _normal_ people. Ah, the joy of dreaming.

“Alrighty then.” He goes to tip his hat, and feels a repeat of the earlier disappointment at its absence. He’d have to grab a replacement if this goes on for much longer.

He enters the bar behind Greenie, and like before, a lot of the young people present wave at him and start to gather around him like moths to flame. He smiles like a charmer and greets them all, pulling McCree into a leather booth and allowing the others to fill in the free space. As expected, a waitress is at their table immediately, passing out a sleek looking drink menu. Also as expected, he can’t read any of the items, and settles for telling Greenie his order and trusting him to relay it to the waitress.

Greenie turns up his nose at his drink choice, but says it to the waitress; and the others around the table also give him weird looks.

McCree internally shrugs. Not everybody had a taste for hard liquor. Greenback seemed the type to go for something sweeter. It was likely also not common for a customer to order an entire bottle of Jack Daniel’s with no soda to mix it with. He wasn’t allowed any at the base, and he felt like he had a lot of catching up to do. He’d take it as straight as he could get.

The waitress shakes her head, and starts talking quickly at him, bowing repeatedly. Greenback raises a hand and she stills. He looks at McCree and says; “They do not have that brand here. Are you okay with a Japanese brand?”

Damn. So his dream self was in Japan. Well, that explained a lot.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” He would take any brand, so long as it was strong.

Greenback nods and says something that sounds like ‘hi’ to the waitress and she leaves. When she returns she’s carrying what he guesses is his whiskey bottle, a tumbler with ice, and everybody else’s drinks. Greenie had some sort of porcelain vase and a tiny cup, while members of his entourage had neon fruity concoctions in fancy glasses. Everyone’s respective drinks are placed in front of them, and some members of their entourage clink their glasses together before taking a sip.

After doubling back to some back room, the waitress then returns to their table with a platter of tiny sandwiches in one hand and a bowl of what looked like bean pods in the other. She put them down quickly onto the centre of the table.

“ _Genji-sama, Hanzo-sama._ ” She says, then bows deeply at McCree and Greenie, and leaves.

“What was that all about?” McCree asks while spearing one of the small sandwiches with a toothpick. Greenie was pouring clear liquid from his little bottle into the tinier cup. “And what did she say at the end?” He had heard those words before, mostly while the girls in the arcade were fawning over him.

“Everything is on the house, for both of us at least.” Greenie says. “And at the end, that was her just being polite. No big deal.”

McCree finally put his finger on what all of this was reminding him of; when he had been a member of Deadlock, a recognisable face as he was, he could walk into a bar and be served immediately no questions asked. Often drinks or food were on the house, especially if he was there with older, more reputed members. This was all beginning to feel a bit like that. Perhaps the few positive perks from his gang days were being reflected in his dream?

“You look worried, Anija, you’ve not touched your drink.” Greenie gestures to his untouched whiskey bottle. He unscrews the bottle and pours a generous amount into the glass tumbler.

“Come on, where’s your sense of fun? Drink with us! I promise I can hold my liquor better than you.”

“Oh really? Would you like to make a bet?” McCree hadn’t been a regular drinker for years, but in his regular body he had been a bit of a heavyweight. He wasn’t sure if that still applied now, but like hell he’d be out-drank by some punk teen in a dream with highlighter hair.

“Of course.” Greenie calls out to a waitress, and gets another glass and a small cup delivered immediately. “We start with my sake, and work our way up to your whiskey. I will match you drink for drink. I do not want either of us sober by the end of this night, Anija. Whoever passes out first loses.”

The rest of the table is watching them with interest now. Greenie quickly does an explanation in Japanese, and the lot of them give an approving thumbs up. Some of them call out for the waitress and request more alcohol; all teens joined together in the spirit of getting completely smashed.

“What does the winner get?” McCree asks.

Greenie smirks then, and he looks downright diabolical. He pulls out his phone and taps at it, holding it up so the built-in camera is aimed straight at him. McCree feels like he will regret asking.

“This is for proof, so you can't deny our arrangement later Anija. Whoever gives up first loses, and the loser has to obey a single request from the winner. It can be anything they want.”

That wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, unless Greenback is terribly imaginative. McCree had done more for less though, and feels a youthful disregard for logic that he hadn’t indulged in a long time.

“Okay Greenback. Sounds good to me.” He says. Greenie poured some of his sake into both the cups, and places one of them in front of McCree. The cowboy picks it up, looks at it critically, and then raises it to clink with Greenie’s.

“I wish you the best of luck.” Greenie taunts.

“I ain’t the one that’ll need it.” McCree replies.

They both down the sake in one gulp.

With the encouragement of their table members in the background, they were both buzzed by the end of the sake, and by the middle of the whiskey they were both thoroughly drunk. Eventually McCree had to wave away a refilled glass when he felt like the world was swirling around him. He felt ready to drop, even though he was six drinks short of his norm. It was disheartening, but he couldn't bring himself to care, even as Greenie triumphantly recorded his admission of defeat on his fancy-ass phone.

  


It was a quarter-past three when McCree and Greenie stumbled out of the bar, waving goodbye to his friends, while speaking together in broken English. McCree couldn't remember the last time he had so much fun; both of them were wheezing from laughter, though neither could recall the exact joke. Though if he had to guess, it was probably due to his being completely lost and wandering randomly on the streets while Greenie was clutching his sides, shaking with contagious giggles.

“Nah, uh, really. How are we, uh, gonna get back? I can’t tell hide nor hair of this place.” McCree’s words were as awkward and clumsy as his gait. They felt too big for his mouth.

Greenie only laughs harder, rather than do anything helpful. He was walking only slightly steadier than his companion, but his English was starting to deteriorate.

“You speak no sense!”

“Y’mean nonsense, right?”

“I know what I say.”

“Hah. Are y’lost too?”

Greenie rolls his eyes at him. The message was an obvious; _Of course not, are you stupid?_. McCree knew he asked a stupid question, but at the same time he could hardly remember what the castle even looked like, so it had been worth a shot.

“Anija…” He whines, “Of course I know, I have done this before,” he waits a beat to think of his next words. “-many times. You should have seen… -”

After this he pauses and finishes his sentence in Japanese while walking ahead. Then stops. Looks over his shoulder and asks;

“- Can you climb well?”

McCree blinks. It took him a second to reply; hearing Japanese always made him space out.

“Uh… I guess so…?” He foggily recalled climbing trees and ropes, and Jefe made him do a lot of upper body strength work at the Overwatch base.

“Yosh!” Greenie cheers and darts ahead, standing in front of the closed double door gate with the emblem of the two dragons at the top. After waving back at McCree, he runs at the wall and starts _climbing_. McCree rubs at his eyes, unsure of what he’s seeing. Greenie is scampering up the vertical surface like he was born to do it, and with his green hair and white scaly pattern on his robe he seems almost some manner of lizard. Once at the top he sits on the windowed opening between the door and the top of the frame and waves down at him.

“Yo!” He calls. “ _Nani ga okotta,_ Anija? Join me.”

McCree ran at the wall and jumped. His fingers scrambled at the smooth wood. He made it a foot of the ground before falling onto his ass. Above, Greenie’s guffaws have turned raucous at his futile attempts.

“Yeah yeah,” McCree gets back on his feet, fighting the urge to laugh along with Greenback. “Not everyone is from the circus like you.”

“Do not worry. I will help you.” And then Greenie rolled backward and disappeared from the top of the gate. Alarmed, McCree did a double-take.

_Did he fall? Was he hurt?_

McCree pounded his fists against the gate as if he could punch through the nine-inch thick doors.

“Greenback! Are you okay?” He yells. No reply. What if the teen’s legs were broken? It was a long fall from the top of the gate to the ground. He had managed to climb up there, but rolling off the side backwards? Who could manage to safely land that?

Slowly the gate swings open; Greenie is standing on the other side completely unharmed, beckoning him to enter.

McCree required no further persuasion.

“Greenie!” He wails, and runs to him with his arms outstretched. He jumps and throws them around the teen.

“You’re okay! I thought you mighta fallen and died with no-one t’help you!” He squeezes the teen tightly until he hears Greenie make a little squeak. McCree utters a quick apology and lets him go. A second passes, yet Greenie hasn’t let go of him.

“Greenie…?” He slowly asks. _Maybe he was hurt after all._ The teen has his face hidden from view, turned down into McCree’s shoulder. His grip is timid but when McCree doesn’t pull away, the arms tighten around his back.

“…Anija. Aitai. Son’nani.” He whispers. Greenie’s words, though muffled gibberish, sounded heartfelt. There was something here, laid bare as carefully as a china doll upon a velvet pillow. McCree didn’t want to cause it to shatter, but he didn’t know how to reply. Even if he did know what Greenie had said, he wasn’t good with any of that emotional crap. He was the sort of guy who preferred to shoot his problems until they went away. His whiskey-drunk mind settled on returning the hug.

Finally Greenie pulls away. His face is twisted with shame.

“Arigato.” He sniffs. “I am okay, really. I just,” he looks at his feet, scowling. “This is disgraceful. You are not even my brother. You are not _Hanzo_.”

McCree tilts his head slightly.

“Well, no.” He says dumbly, it felt like gears in his brain were gunked up with molasses. “M’McCree. Jesse McCree.”

Genji snorts, serious expression melting away for a brief moment.

“An American! My brother’s body, controlled by an American! He would be… morti… mor… most upset.”

The comment was not meant to offend, but McCree finds it in him to feel a little offended anyway.

“M’not that bad.” He sulks. “I’ve been well behaved this dream.”

“Dream… yes, you said before.” Greenie finally closes the gate and drops the latch into place to secure it. “Come, let us return to our rooms before more see us”

“I don’t - uh - don’t remember where my room is.” McCree admits sheepishly. “Mind showin’ me back?”

Greenie looks at him with a slightly exasperated expression, and McCree couldn’t blame him with all the assistance he’s had to give today. McCree’s about to say that he’ll try to find his way on his own when the exasperation turns to fondness.

“Shikata ga nai.” Greenie says with a huff. “Alright, Jesse McCree. Let me show you to your…well. Anija’s room.”

Somehow they did not run into another living soul as they snuck through the castle’s side entrance and navigated the mess of halls and rooms until they reached the winding set of staircases. Not a single guard or member of the household help present. They weren’t even being that quiet - McCree tripped and fell down multiple stairs twice while cursing profusely (much to the amusement of his companion.)

“D’you live here alone? At night?” McCree asks once he registers the strange silence. Greenie shook his head no.

“At these times, they know to stay hidden. But they are here. When I come home late… ah, Anija usually…” He finishes his sentence in Japanese, screwing up his face at some memory.

McCree knows that cringing look. He’s felt it when Jefe caught him stashing alcohol in his room. He remembers the hot flash of shame, unable to bear the man’s disappointment, then anger at himself for feeling that way. Needless to say, his rebellious teen phase ended quickly at the hands of Overwatch. Greenback, it seems, had yet to get to that revelation.

They reach the top floors, the upper section of the castle. He passes door after door, following after Greenie until they find the proper bedroom, slides open the door, and McCree flops boneless onto the bed. Greenie shuts it behind them then goes to join McCree. The American groans into a pillow.

Good thing this was a dream, otherwise he’d have one hell of a hangover in the morning. He can already feel it coming on. It’d been a long time since he’d drank so much.

“Jesse - “ Greenie says.

“Thass me.” His speech is muffled from the pillow.

“Jesse. Is my brother... uh- this has been something I have had a need to ask.“ 

Greenie is serious now, the fun that had been leeching out of him since they left the bar had finally run dry. McCree decides not to comment on the poor grammar and stays silent. Greenie looks down at his lap, voice quiet.

“My actual brother, will he come back?”

“Whaddaya mean?” He turns his head to the side, freeing his mouth from the pillow. “A’course. When I wake up.”

“But, you are - this is not…” Greenie picks up an extra pillow and shoves his face into it. He screams. Drops the pillow. McCree watches him cautiously.

“Are y’alright there, partner?” He asks.

“Hai.”

“Howdy t’ya too. But are y’okay?”

Greenie takes a deep breath in, and breathes out in a slow stream through his nose.

“Yes. I…I just. This is hard for me. I do not hate my brother; he is my only true family left. If he does not return, I am not sure what to do. You here with me is making me think of how we were as children. It is… nostalgic.” His face is rough with yearning. Vulnerability made him seem younger and smaller than he was, especially while sitting cross legged in the King-sized bed. This was a bit too heavy for McCree at the moment, not that he would know what to say to comfort anyway.

“You look like Anija,” Greenie continued, “but are not him. We used to know each other better than anyone. But things have been hard. I want to laugh with him as I did with you today. I fear I have lost my chance.”

“There’s always a chance.” McCree finally says. It felt right to do so. “You jus’have t’take it.” He’s slurring, but it gets the point across. “Hell, if I can, I’ll help.”

“Hah. Arigato, Jesse.” Greenie gives him a small smile. “You are fun. I hope we can go out again some day.”

“Like a date?” McCree teases.

The comment doesn’t seem to have its desired effect, as Greenie contemplates him seriously for a moment, before his cheeks tinge pink and he smacks his hands against his cheeks in a loud slapping sound. Then he slumps from his sit into a face down lie on the bed, face in the mattress.

“Do not say that with my brother’s face, please.” He wails. “I will be sick.”

McCree snorts; “It was a joke. I don’t like kids with green hair.”

While Genji squawks with mock affront, (insisting _“you just have bad taste-“_ ) McCree shifts a bit on the bed, pulling off his outerwear, dropping it on the floor. After shuffling so half of him is under a blanket, he closes his eyes.

They lay in silence for a while with their respective minds wandering; everything that wanted to be said in drunken openness had been said. Eventually, through senses dulled with oncoming sleep, he feels the movement of Greenback shuffling about and finally settling under the covers somewhere next to him.

 _Wow,_ McCree thinks last before drifting off; _what a once in a lifetime dream this is. Shame it’ll never happen again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, The last part was actually not even supposed to be part of the chapter and it was supposed to end at them leaving the bar. But I wrote the omake and my friends made me put it in. So. Thank or curse them, I suppose.


	3. McCree II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree has his most confusing day _ever_ , thinks he might have memory issues, learns he might not be an orphan after all and has some self-doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who left Kudos, Comments, or Bookmarks, and everybody who took the time to read this! You guys encourage me to climb out of the trash bin and continue writing.
> 
> I originally had a longer note here, but then all of my draft got deleted and I had to reformat it all again and all the other tiny fixes I made also got deleted and it was suffering. If you see mistakes, that's probably why. I'll go back and look through it again when I don't feel so frustrated haha.
> 
> But anyway, thanks again everybody! You guys are the best! I don't deserve you allllllllllllllll *fades into abyss*

The sterile white ceiling of the medbay greets him when McCree opens his eyes. His first thoughts are of alarm, then, _confusion_. Was he hurt? He couldn’t remember getting injured. Last thing he recalled was going to sleep in his own bed. Who brought him here? Was he sick? There was this vague feeling at the back of his mind telling him he should be feeling terrible right now, nursing one hell of a hangover. A feeling he dismissed pretty quickly, as he hadn’t drank anything more than a beer or two in years. Why was he here? _Why didn’t he remember?_

Then he thinks; _what if I am here to be near someone else?_ There had been times before when members of their small crew had been sent to medbay and others would stay to sleep nearby, just in case; though in case of _what_ was never truly brought up. ( _For company,_ everyone said.) And the thought is too horrible to entertain, he can already feel the icy spread of fear down his spine, horror setting in fast. It was worse than himself getting hurt, it’s worse by at least ten times over.

Maybe they had been attacked and he had gotten concussed; that was why his mind felt so foggy. Hypothetical images, unbidden, flashed through his mind in a whirlwind. He thinks of Ana being ambushed alone in the backlines and shot in the neck, or Jack rushing in and getting a sniper bullet to the skull; Reinhardt breaking his shield protecting them and getting caught in an explosion; Gabe getting his guts shredded apart by shrapnel. His stomach wrings painfully, as if the injury would be his own.

Panicked, he flicks his head to the left and right, scanning the rest of the dark room. _There’s nobody in any of the spare beds_ , he realises with great relief, and his heart begins to beat again. None of the divider curtains were drawn. Mercy’s office has a dim light on in the corner, but the doctor is not present. Must be in her own room lying down, he supposed.

He relaxes back into the mattress now that he knows he’s alone in the room. Alone and in good condition for being in the medbay, weirdly enough. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift; might as well get back to sleep if nothing was wrong.

He remembers a green haired Asian teen smiling and laughing before it all melts away and morphs into various scenery, places and feelings of carefree youth. The pictures in his half-sleep are vague and feel familiar in a distant way. By the time he wakes up the second time, it’s all slipped away like grains of sand through a sieve. He’s none the different for it.

  


His wake-up call is a hundred pound preteen jumping on top of his chest.

McCree wakes with a start as all the air is knocked out of his lungs.

“What the hell?!” He yelps. He hears a giggle.

“You said a swear! Go put a franc in the swear jar!”

“Hell is not a swear.” McCree corrects, easily pushing Fareeha off his chest and she falls onto the floor with a _oomf_. It didn’t deter her for long, and she scrabbles back up and sits at the foot of the bed.

“An’ I asked Ms. Amari; that swear jar rule is only put in place for you. You’re not trickin’ me into puttin’ money into that thing again.” He looks at his wrist, for some reason he’s not wearing his watch. “What time is it?”

When Fareeha got a wicked grin, he holds up a hand to stop her. “Don’t say it. I’ll drop ya.”

“It’s high-“

“I’m warning ya kid!”

“-noon!”

He kicks off his blankets and lunges for her. Shrieking, she jumps off the bed and runs. She doesn’t get far; McCree has the advantage of longer legs and has her scooped off the ground and in a steel-tight headlock in moments.

“Leggo!” She wails. “It’s seven fifteen!” She kicks at him with her small slippered feet. McCree laughs.

“Too late for that kid. What are you gonna do now? Your karate’s not helping you here.”

She stops kicking him. Then juts her face down and bites his arm. McCree drops her immediately. “Christ on a bike!”

She sticks out her tongue at him.

“Serves you right!” She puts her hands on her hips and tries to look intimidating. She instead only looks more adorable. The girl would probably grow to be fearsome someday, but at the moment she was too small to be perceived as any more than a cute ankle-biter.

McCree chuckles and rubs at the mark on his arm.

“You win this time kiddo. Good thing we’re in the medbay. I’m gonna need a band-aid.”

“I’ll get one!” As her way of apology, Fareeha runs over to their general supplies cabinet, and returns with two pink band-aids with cute white cats on them. “Hold still!” She says, peels off the backing, letting them flutter to the floor as she carefully applies the adhesive bandages over the small bite mark.

“ _Hello Kitty?_ Really?” McCree says. “I was hopin’ for _Iron Man_ ones.”

“No whining. The _Iron Man_ ones are my favourite. You don’t get one.”

“Aw c’mon, pleaseeeee -“ He gives her the puppy dog eyes. She stares at him for several seconds.

“Alright.” She concedes. “You can get an _Iron Man_ band-aid _next_ time you get injured.”

“I can live with that.” He walks back over to his bed and sits down. Fareeha joins him.

“Are we able to watch any more movies today? We got through a bunch yesterday before Angie kicked me out. Said you needed your sleep or something. Phff.” She blows a raspberry. “I’m glad we finished the _Captain America_ series, but I didn’t like it as much as the _Avengers_ all together in a group. But! Now I understand the resemblance. Uncle Gabriel was right; Uncle Jack is pretty much Captain America. ”

“Don’t say that to his face.” McCree warns. “He hates being called that.” He’s sure he’d remember watching eight _Captain America_ films, especially if they were in a marathon; that’d be at least twelve hours of explosions and cliché plot devices. But no matter how hard he tries, he cannot recall any of them. Thinking on it, he can’t bring himself to be too disappointed. For the purposes of his sanity, it was probably for the best.

“Weren’t we watching _Aliens_ last? You fell asleep pretty early into it. Too scared to finish it?” He teases. She frowns at him, seeming perplexed.

“We did finish _Aliens_ yesterday morning, after we came here. And then we watched all eight _Captain America_ movies and one remake. Don’t you remember?”

He couldn’t remember watching anything recently. They had tried watching _Aliens_ the night before, or so he had thought. His mind was getting that clouded feeling whenever he tried too hard to recall anything.

“Yeah. Of course.”

Fareeha isn’t convinced in the slightest. Sometimes he feels like he can see her mother in her. This was one of those times.

“You’re still acting weird. Do you have memory loss from Uncle Gabriel knocking you down too hard during sparring practise? Angie said yesterday that you were in perfect health but…” She squints at him, trying to peer into his mind. “…You weren’t acting like usual.”

“Wasn’t I?” He’s trying to sound nonchalant, but inside he’s slowly starting to panic. If he’s missing a day, didn’t that mean he missed the mission? Oh _fuck_ , Jefe was gonna _kill_ him.

“No. You were much more quiet and polite. You even braided my hair!” She grins and points at her head. There was a multitude of tiny braids put evenly throughout her shoulder length hair, made fuzzy from sleep. “And you painted my nails! But you weren’t as good as Mom at that.” She waves her sapphire blue nails at him.

McCree looks down at his own fingernails. They are of a matching colour. Fareeha sees him staring at them.

“See, when I did yours I did them much neater. You have to go from bottom to top, not side to side.”

“You did a good job.” He says vacantly. He’s starting to feel drained, even though his day has only just started.

_What the fuck even happened yesterday?_

The medbay door opens with a _whoosh_ of air. They both turn their heads to see the newcomer.

_Jefe._

Ah, _shit_.

“Fareeha.” He booms. “You were supposed to check if he was awake, not convince him to start goofing off.”

“Uncle Gabriel -“ She jolts up from the bed. “I was getting to it!”

Gabriel taps at his watch.

“It’s been twenty minutes Fareeha.”

“Oh!” She flushes. “I lost track of time.”

“Go on to breakfast. Your mother’s waiting for you. Chop-chop.” He clapped once and she shot out of the room faster than a bullet from a gun.

When she’s gone the mood of the room changes immediately, turning heavy and oppressive. McCree recognises this brand of awkwardness; it was the discomfort of someone who has to say something they would rather ignore than bring up. But the Commander was always blunt and to the point when it came to things that had to be said.

Reyes leans against the far wall, arms crossed in front of his chest. 

He’s not saying anything. With each passing second McCree feels more and more put on the spot, like he’s being expected to own up to some sort of misdoing. He fidgets with his hands over his knees. Much longer of this and he knows that he will combust.

“Uh…. Jefe -“ He starts. Gabriel holds up a hand and McCree shuts up immediately.

“ - Can it McCree. I don’t want to hear it. You know why I'm here.”

McCree starts to sweat. What did he do yesterday that was so terrible that he can’t remember? Was this about him missing the mission yesterday? Had he gotten hurt yesterday after all? Usually a personal visit from stony-faced Reyes was due to him doing something stupid (read: risky) and getting shot. McCree starts surreptitiously checking himself for scars or a feeling of soreness. He lifts up his collar to take a quick peek at his chest for any trace of new tissue.

Angela’s work was superb, but sometimes even nanobiotics left a mark. Even if her handiwork was perfect, the human body was not.

“Pay attention.” Reyes snaps. McCree dropped his hands from his shirt. Sat up straighter.

“Sir.” He responds automatically.

If anything his response seems to aggravate Gabriel further. His jaw clenches and he shifts briefly from foot to foot. It’s rare to see him so uncertain of how to proceed. McCree internally clenches and waits for the other boot to drop - and subsequently for Reyes to shove it up his ass.

Finally, Reyes steps a foot away from the wall. Uncrosses his arms, then after seeming even more uncomfortable, crosses them again. He's unwilling to get any closer. The distance between them feels impersonal and astringent.

“McCree,” he says it cautiously and his voice was filled with uncertainty. “ - No. Jesse.”

This freezes him in place. Jefe never used his first name. Ever. This had to be important.

“We need to talk.” Reyes’ face is dead serious. As serious as he was in that interrogation room long ago.

McCree swallows. Was this it? Was he finally being dismissed? Kicked out? Hung out to dry? All he could think about was what he must have done wrong. He couldn’t go to max - he thought they had a deal. He joked around sometimes, yes, stayed up late occasionally; rarely he’d snuck drinks and slept in, but that wasn’t grounds to put him on probation was it?

“Uh, sure, Jefe. No problem.” He tries to not let the hysteria creep into his voice. _Show no weakness. Show no fear_.

Gabriel must have noticed because his _commanding_ face turns more patient than demanding. He scratches at his neck.

“We’re alone here. You can speak as directly as you want. Nothing leaves this room. Understand?”

“Yes, Jefe. Sir. Commander.” McCree is babbling. He sees Gabe’s eyes narrow and McCree starts to feel even worse. Gabe looks almost let down. Had he failed somehow?

Reyes finally leaves the safety of the medbay wall to hesitantly stand a metre from McCree’s bedside. He seems unnaturally stiff.

“I’ll be the bigger man here then. I didn’t want to come here, but Amari and Morrison convinced me. They had good points - we shouldn’t sweep what happened yesterday under a rug. I know you don’t want to talk. You’re bad with this sort of thing, like I am. But now that you’re feeling better, it needs to be said.”

McCree feels like he’s being looked through. Jefe’s gaze is focused on something past him, over his shoulder to the wall behind him. _Why was he avoiding eye contact?_ He was acting almost sheepish now, and McCree was thoroughly confused as to where this talk was headed. Perhaps he wasn’t going to be punished after all.

“What you, uh, called me the other day. Yesterday. I, uh,” Gabriel sighs and rubs at his temples, eyes closed for the briefest of moments.

“Dammit Jesse-“ He swears, and shoves through the rest of his sentence with the force of a bulldozer. “If you think of me in that way, I just want you to know that it’s fine by me. Just keep it to when we’re alone, okay? I got a hard-ass image to maintain and Jack was making fun of me for this all day yesterday. So, since we don’t talk about this crap often.” He clears his throat, clasps a hand firmly on McCree’s shoulder. His face is uncharacteristically gentle now that he was looking him in the eye for the first time this entire conversation.

“You’re one of us, _Mijo_.” He says, and it hits McCree like he’s climbing a staircase only to find air where the next step should be. One stupid, dumb word, and it’s like the entire earth was pulled out from under him. McCree feels his traitorous eyes start to burn. He wasn’t ready for this. He’d almost prefer being scolded for a screw-up. Oblivious or ignoring his shock, Gabriel continues;

“You don’t have to feel ashamed about considering us as your family. I think Ana was pretty pleased, all things considered. I need you to understand that we all feel the same way about you too. Even Jack, though he's a stubborn ass about it. You’re not going to be left behind, not during a mission and not when this shit show is all over and done with. Do you understand?”

McCree can’t trust himself to speak right now. He clears his throat and manages a shaky _sí_.  


Gabe nods, pleased, then takes his hand off Jesse’s shoulder and wanders back to the exit, seeming more than ready to leave after the awkward dump of emotions.

“Get your ass out of bed and get ready, then join us for breakfast. We’ll fill you in on the mission.”

Then he’s gone, slipped back out through the door as fast as his sappy embarrassment would let him.

McCree sits in shock, staring at where the man had left. He rubbed at his eyes.

_What the hell was going on?_ And what the hell had he done yesterday?? There must be clues somewhere that didn’t require him begging details out of Fareeha. Security footage maybe? Not that he’d have the authorisation to even view any of that.

_Mijo._ He banishes it from his mind before it can haunt him any further with ghosts of his past and hopes for the future. No matter how much he trusted Jefe, it was far too good to be true. It was far too soon to be true.

He starts digging through the drawers of the tiny side table set up next to his bed. One of Angela’s small notepads is inside, along with a standard blue pen. He grabs at it like a starving man would grab for a sandwich.

The first few pages are just a bunch of sketches. A well done side profile of Fareeha. A small doodle of what he guesses is Captain America getting hit by a car. Pretty standard stuff.

Then he sees a bunch of names, with question marks near them. From Ana to Fareeha there was a line connecting them, and above it was written: _Mother of_. It had the names of the others on the base listed too, with other words over arrows neatly organising everyone. Some of the little annotations next to people’s names are written in some strange Asian characters that he is unable to decipher. Then he sees his own name and focuses in on it.

_Jesse McCree._ It says in neat writing. After it, in brackets written is; _student? Soldier? Drinks coffee, likes movies (?). Bilingual (?). Reason for swap: Unknown. Current location: Unknown. Query: Somewhere in America._

Even smaller, written under it in English is:

_Who are you?_

He stares at the three short words and thinks; _someone is messing with me._

It had to be Fareeha. If she was in with him all yesterday then she would have had tons of time to snag one of Angela’s notebooks and doodle in it. Never knew she had such artistic talent, though. Most of what he’s seen her draw was glorified stick figures. But that was better than what he could do. Her knowledge of the Asian writing system would also be a surprise.

Torbjörn was good at drawing, but those were blueprints and technical drawings meant to be drafts of future inventions. Reinhardt was a definite no. Besides a lack of artistic talent, ( _he’d been on the man’s team in Pictionary_ ) he wouldn’t put aside time in his day to mess with him in such a subtle way. Jack was in a similar category; he knew that Jack thought of him in the very loose sense of colleague, and wouldn’t be going out of his way to pull pranks on him anytime soon.

There’s no one else it could reasonably be.

McCree takes the notebook with him when he leaves the medbay and shoves it into his drawer in his room. Once he washes up, dresses and returns to the kitchen Ana greets him warmly.

“How do you feel Jesse?”

“Better. Thank you Ma’am.”

“Good to hear. Now, tea or coffee?”

“Coffee please.”

“Back to coffee today hm? You seemed to like the tea yesterday.” She fills his mug up to the brim with the dark liquid.

McCree gratefully accepts it, blowing at the steam.

“Hm? I always have coffee.”

“Perhaps.”

She’s smiling enigmatically, and McCree is half a mind to ask her to elaborate, but the subject is dropped as Reinhardt’s thunderous presence enters the kitchen.

“Guten morgen!” He booms.

“Good morning Wilhelm. You seem to be in good spirits today.”

The two continue to chatter light-heartedly as Ana continues her cooking at the stove. As the other members start to trickle in to take their seats McCree leans across the table to whisper at Fareeha.

“Look,” He says quietly. “Yesterday, did you doodle and write in a notepad and leave it in my nightstand while we were at the medbay?”

“What?” She’s stirring sugar into her own mug. She has tea - Ana has deemed her too young for coffee and the girl had loudly proclaimed that it was too bitter anyway.

“No.” She says matter-of-factly. McCree has no doubt that she is telling the truth. “You were the one writing in the notepad. You asked Angie for it after lunch right before the second movie. But you wouldn’t show me what you were doing. Don’t you remember?”

She is quizzical, and McCree worries that she’ll begin to have doubts of his sanity. If she did, it won’t be long before it got to Ana, and from there, the rest of their group.

“Ah, nah, I remember. My hands just needed something to fiddle with.” He lies. She shrugs and sips at her tea.

Had it really been him? But just him on an autopilot state? Trying to think back on the day previous yielded nothing but fog, as if trying to recapture the events of a dream.

It was probably nothing to worry about. He wasn’t going to run to Angela with worries of memory problems or multiple personality disorders - that would get him taken off the field for sure. That wasn’t an option for him. If he was here, he had to be useful. It was part of their deal. He wasn’t sure how long the 'considered family' thing would last if he was just dead weight to the group.

  


By now even Angela had made it to their table, a rarity given her strict, self-imposed work schedule. Girl was a workaholic. But given that her knowledge had saved their lives countless times, he considered it more than acceptable.

She poured herself a full mug of coffee and took a seat next to Ana’s. The sniper came around with her deep frying pan of Shakshouka and scraped some onto everybody’s plate. Everyone chimes a thank you.

“Angela, did you sleep well last night?” Ana asks and takes a seat.

“Of course. I was able to take a night off.” She did look significantly more rested than usual. The dark circles that normally graced her pretty face were slightly lighter.

“We will all hope that next time goes just as smoothly.” Ana says, “You could do with more time off. We all could.”

“This is no time to get lazy.” Jack says gruffly. “We got the intel we needed, so now the real work begins. We’ve been doing a lot of small stuff lately; like shutting down gangs trying to take advantage of the anarchy-“

His eyes briefly flash to McCree, who instinctively feels his hackles start to rise defensively from the man’s barbed comment. He preoccupies himself with scraping some egg onto his fork instead. Jack goes back to scanning the reactions of the rest of the table.

“-and cutting off crucial supply chains for the omnics. We’ve shut down omniums before, and this will hopefully be just like the last time we had to do so. “

Reyes pushes back his plate and crosses his legs, picking up where Jack left off.

“The good news is, we can expect outside support for once on this one. The Mexican Government has decided to scrape together and train some soldiers to provide assistance, and they’ll send the troops to create a distraction while we set EMP charges, move in and shut down the core. After that, it’s just mop-up. Get in and get out. Standard stuff. Causalities should be low.” He says the last part with the wary knowledge that though something can look easy on paper, it rarely turns out that way in the end. Especially where self-aware, tactically adaptable robots were involved. The only thing to really hope for is that whatever happens would not cause permanent injury or death to anyone on their little team.

“Yesterday we infiltrated a server centre that was in hostile territory, and withdrew data on the floorplan and security measures of the Puebla Omnium. Closer to the Op we’ll have to scout it again to make sure the layout hasn’t been changed. The core should be in the same centralised area as the other omniums, but the God programs have a tendency to rearrange the rooms and build different routes. It’s always a risk. But it’s not anything we haven’t done before.”

He’s being light on the details and optimistic as Fareeha is present. She’s old enough to know what’s going on without being told. To prevent more anxiety than needed, they kept her somewhat in the loop, but even she shouldn’t be too aware of what her mother was in danger of each mission. Comparatively, as a sniper Ana was in a safer position than the rest of them, a small mercy if any in this shit-show. This war had made enough orphans.

“We’ll start training scenarios immediately and run-throughs of our protocols. We have plenty of time. We will set a tentative date for the beginning of March.”

_March, five months away,_ McCree thinks. _Must be a big op if it had to take place so long from now._ Taking down a new omnium was no walk in the park, but this being one of the last ones left meant it had had longer to learn from the mistakes of its brothers. _Jefe is taking no risks here._

Everyone nods once Gabriel finishes his brief overview. There was nothing to say. At least not while Fareeha was in the room, listening, watching, taking in everything like a sponge.

When breakfast was over and everything cleared away, everyone sans Fareeha went to the conference room to start debriefing proper. Gabriel took a tiny jump drive out of his pocket and plugged it into their holo-screen port built into the desk.

He taps at a keyboard and opens files one after another until the mapped three-dimensional grid of a building’s layout comes on screen.

"There used to be three entrances, but at the moment there seems to only be the one. That’ll be this one here.” He types on the keyboard and red X indicators show up over two of the entrances, leaving the one free.

“As for the rooms inside, we have no way of knowing yet how they plan to change things, since they almost certainly know that we extracted information yesterday and will likely rebuild and reinforce whatever they have available. We’ll have to monitor all that periodically if we want to move forward. At the moment, we don't know much about how _Tezcatlipoca_ does things, so we can only assume that it is this layout.” He presses another button and the 3D blueprint goes 2D, showing the inside layout top-down style.

Torbjörn stood then and takes Gabriel’s place at the head of the table.

“I’ll build drones to try t’map out their territory and see what we learn, but in the past they’ve had a low success rate if they try to enter the building directly. The hardest thing is that if they’re found, we’ll be back at square one. The God program will raise its security levels and the building will probably be modified. What would be optimal is t’hack into their bio-scanners and get an override put in for us, or set off a charge strong enough to disable everything for a few minutes. It’d give us more time t’do what we need t’do. This is all stuff we’ve done before against other God AI, so it is likely the Puebla omnium is already prepared for this strategy.”

Jack is unconvinced of the slow route, as always.

“All we need is for their bio-scanners to be disabled and for the majority of the omnics to be busy outside.” He says, “Then we can get in, navigate on the fly and take out the brain. It doesn't need to take five months. It’ll be just like Detroit. There will be no need for a hasty retreat if the core is shut down or properly dismantled.”

“Detroit would have been a disaster if I had not sniped that recon bot before he set off the alarm.” Ana replied, easily the most cautious of the group. She had more reason to live than any of them. “You are impulsive for one so sharp. This needs to be taken slow. We will only get one chance.”

“I agree with Ana.” Reinhardt strokes fingers through his beard. “She is as wise as she is beautiful. Rushing in is what got many of my battalion killed. It was a necessary charge, but wasteful. Any battle can be won if you are willing to pay the cost. But perhaps it is better if we all live to fight another day, eh? I want us all to see the end of this war together, friends!”

It was rare for Reinhardt to bring up his crusader days. He had followed his commanding officer unquestionably and had felt unquantifiable grief when his brethren had all fallen. Not long after, heavily lauded, he had been hand-picked and tossed into Overwatch from day one. McCree supposed Reinhardt was not willing to take any road that would lead him into being the only survivor once again. Angela cleared her throat politely.

“We are all eager to take out the rest of the God AIs. Humanity surviving the crisis does not seem as impossible as it once did.” Angela says calmly, her voice a soothing balm to any discourse. “If we have to take it slow, that is simply how it must be. I cannot work miracles. I want us all to see the peace we have spent years fighting for.”

Jack taps his fingers on the desk. He agrees with the others, but sitting around for so long always made him anxious. “Besides Mexico,” he says, “all we know of left is the God AI in Russia, China, and Australia. But Russia has been holding their own against them for a long while. I have faith that they’ll outlast us all. Mexico will be a good indicator of how these last few will go. Gabe, shall we go over the key features of the plan?”

As Gabriel went on to name the main parts of the Puebla omnium and it’s unique outer features, McCree let himself space out. They’d end up reviewing it all again anyway a hundred times over in the months until the actual operation.

He couldn’t believe it as all going to be over so soon. He had at least a year and a half left with this crew, maybe two years if their current cautious rate of action continues. What would happen to him after that? He would no longer be useful.

Years ago, he had been happened upon by accident.

An omnium that didn’t reactivate on the border of Texas and New Mexico had been used by deadlock as a base and warehouse of sorts. The normal populace and even the local police had been too terrified to even get close to the building - and for good reason. No sane person would want to get close to a building that could start spitting out murderous robots at any moment. That made it an ideal hideout for an illegal gang with nothing to lose. By complete accident, the newly formed (and still top secret) Overwatch strike team had come to investigate why the inert omnium had stayed inert, and ended up busting part of a gang operation instead. Jefe had taken one look at him, and an even shorter look at his fake ID. One thing led to another, and long story short: young-punk Jesse had been dragged kicking and screaming into the somewhat reluctant arms of Overwatch.

Considering it now, his inclusion must have been very off the record. It was likely that legally, he didn’t exist. Not to the government.

No family - well, no blood family. No legal papers. He couldn’t even remember what his actual birth name _was_ , or the hospital he had been born in. His name had been Jesse McCree ever since he snuck into a theatre and saw his first western at the age of six. He suddenly was hit with a sense of loss.

Where would he go after this was over? Two years was far too soon. He was almost legally an adult now. He couldn’t expect to be taken pity on anymore by the members of their little group; they all had lives to return to and commendations to collect after the crisis was over.

Not him though. He was fairly sure the UN didn’t even know he was here in the previously abandoned, oversized base they had provided for Overwatch. To them, he would be a rat hiding in the metaphorical grocery store, living comfortably until he was caught or until the owners move shop to elsewhere. A dirty, stray dog lurking behind a restaurant begging for scraps.

“McCree, are you paying attention?” The Commander's voice cuts through his mild inner crisis.

“Yes sir.” He quips quickly back.

They both know that was a fat lie. Jefe raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t call him out on it further, of which McCree was grateful. Reyes then returned to his explanation and everyone’s focus went back to him.

  


McCree tries to be attentive and manages for a few minutes before dipping back down into his thoughts. He didn’t want to hope that this self-made family would be there for him when all this was over. If he thought he had a chance, when the alternative comes to pass it would be too much to bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> University's gonna get busy soon, so I don't quite know when my next update will be. Probably in a week or so? Don't worry though, every chapter has been planned out since before I started writing it, so this thing is gonna be finished even if I have to die trying. Also if you're curious, there should be around 18-20 chapters overall, depending on whether I make certain ones longer or split em into two.
> 
> Anyway, see you soon! (I'm sorryyyyyy)


	4. Hanzo II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo has a straightforward day full of disappointment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was...involved. Also, it's pretty long. I'm really sorry. I'll try to make them shorter, at least for a couple chapters. I feel like the length of this thing is already daunting and we're only on chapter 4. *sobs*
> 
> Thank you everybody for reading! ((I'm sorryyyyy))

Hanzo wakes up with a pounding headache.

He opens his eyes and grunts. Everything was too _bright._ Throwing an arm over his face, he considers going back to sleep.

Awareness cuts through his sleep-haze and hits him like a truck.

He was home. Nauseous and feeling like he wanted to crawl under a rock, but _home_.

Then he wonders why he feels so relieved. _Where else would he be?_ Frowning, Hanzo tries to concentrate. The headache was making it difficult.

His eyes slide over his room. Most things seem to be in the right place. A mop of green hair is resting on a pillow next to him. He inwardly sighs.

_Oh, Genji._

At least the teen was passed out at home rather than in a gutter or some stranger’s bed or couch. Still, he couldn’t help but question _why here_? He hadn’t been on cordial speaking terms with Genji for weeks, much less sharing a bed like they were giggling children.

Himself feeling like trash while Genji is passed out in his bed could only be the result of some stunt the younger one had pulled. He trusted Genji enough to not drug him - or so he had thought he did. He had severe hangover symptoms now with no memory of _why_ , so perhaps his beloved _little brother_ had found yet another line to cross.

Genji was only half under the covers, his back tattoo of the proud green dragon stared up at Hanzo with flat eyes, roaring proudly on its vessel's skin.

A _disgrace_. He wondered if the dragon was aware of the behaviours of his assigned Shimada. He wondered what the great spirits of their clan thought of Genji’s deplorable behaviour. Did they condemn him as the rest of his blood family did? Did they whisper exaggerated stories to the point of hearsay behind his back as the rest of the clan did?

Hanzo realises he’s only in his underwear under the covers. He sees horrifically casual clothes on the floor - t shirt and jeans - and though they’re on his side of the bed he prays to every dragon that’s ever protected his family that he wasn’t seen outside his room wearing those. Genji’s clothes were also lying carelessly on the floor as well, but at least it looked as he had been dressed in proper haori and hakama. Another instinct has him reaching for his throat, groping for a familiar gold chain. Nothing.

 _Where is it?_ He couldn’t have lost it. Even drunk, he wouldn’t have been so careless. The bedside table nearest him had nothing atop it, and he had no luck with inside the drawer either. _Where is it??_

He jumps up from bed and rummages through the pockets of his discarded clothes. Not there either. He couldn’t have misplaced it. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. It’s one of the few sentimental possessions he has allowed himself the luxury of keeping.

Checking the bathroom has him spotting the necklace coiled up on the counter next to the sink, not broken, wedding ring still present on the chain. Once he has it slipping through his fingers, and then latched around his neck, the panic subsides.

At the edge of his mind he pushes out, calling for his dragons. To his relief, he feels their ever watchful presence on the outskirts of his consciousness, rumbling like traveling storm-clouds. It’s a great relief to feel them; it felt like releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He asks; _What do you know of what happened?_

Hanzo is not surprised to receive no response.

Returning to his bed, he sees his younger brother has not stirred at all even with all his movement. He nudged Genji. The teen had slept long enough, been spoiled long enough. Hanzo needed answers.

After a few pokes the teen stirs, groaning into the pillow.

“Genji.” Hanzo snaps. “Wake up.”

“Brother - five more minutes.”

“No.” He was resolute. “There are things we must discuss.”

Genji slowly is pulled back into the land of the living, and turns his head to the side to look at him.

“Ah, it seems you have returned.” He says, and smiles painfully. “I am glad, dear brother. I was worried… I was, ah - “

“ - Worried about what?”

Genji turns his head away until his face is once again obscured by the pillow and his voice is muffled.

“Nothing. You are back. That is all that matters.”

Of all times for his brother to speak indirectly, he chose it to do it now?

“Very well. Get up.” He orders. “We can eat breakfast first, but then we will need to talk about what happened. At this moment I need some tea and an aspirin.”

“…Do we have to get up? Can’t we get food sent up?”

“No.”

“Brother -“ Genji whined, and moves his head out of his pillow cave only to pull the sheets up to cover his head like the petulant child he was. It was far too flimsy of a barrier, but Genji wasn’t feeling well enough to put up more of a fight. Hanzo pulls the sheets down while Genji groans in discomfort and starts swinging his arm wildly in his direction, as if it was enough to swat him away. One swing got a bit too close and Hanzo flinched out of reach, then grunted at the head rush that followed. It felt like the world was spinning.

That breakfast was sounding better and better. If he could get something hot to drink, he would be the happiest man on earth.

It ends in a stare-off; Genji was not very intimidating with his tired face and goofy bedhead, and finally emerged from his pillow cave. He felt the urge to jump in and ruffle the younger’s hair up more, but quickly squished the sentiment under his foot. Genji would take any endearments it as a sign that he could get his way. And that wasn’t to be. Not this morning. He had to remind himself to stay stern - the vertigo and headache made him want to give in and just stay in bed, if only for an hour longer.

“Please?” Genji entreats, one last time.

“No.” Hanzo speaks with a sense of finality. He had made up his mind, and would stick with it. “We need to get up properly. It’s a weekday. People will talk.”

Genji sags with disappointment, but seems to have given up, not that he had much fight left in him anyway. He scrubs at his face with his hands.

“Alright. Fine.” He says, and slowly begins the process of getting his feet onto the cold floor. Once there, he leans over to rummage through the pockets of his old clothes until he finds his phone. Hanzo sighs - he’s not too impatient yet. He’s getting his way, he’ll give Genji some time.

He remembers that they’re both only in their boxers. Not acceptable. He goes to his drawers and pulls out two neatly folded casual cotton yukatas. He walks back over and tosses it at the younger man.

“Here. Put this on. We can’t go downstairs half naked.”

Genji grumbles about the colour but dresses quickly, tucking it left over right and tying it sloppily. Hanzo does the same, and seeing them both in matching blue patterns almost makes him smile. They hadn’t matched like this since they were young and their mother was alive to dress them.

Outwardly, he sighs and goes to the door. Genji silently follows him, and they head downstairs to face everyone together.

\---

They suffer through the knowing looks of the staff, knowledgeable about all of their unsavoury affairs but smart enough to not let on.

Hanzo frowns into his natto while the awkward silence between him and his brother stretches on. He wasn’t sure what exactly had made them this way. There had been no major altercation, no simple argument to cause this gap, this yawning void between them.

The simplest answer was the gross sum of all the others; neglect.

It was like a single iceberg splitting in two and drifting slowly apart from the uncontrollable whims of the world. Genji already had one foot out the metaphorical door, all the while looking back to see if anyone would stop him. Some days more often than not made Hanzo want to shut the door and lock it. That common, malicious thought used to send a shock of loss through him, a feeling underlined with disappointment in himself for even considering such a thing. But each incident, each late night, each scolding, each fight with the younger Shimada made the feeling less and less. The persistent whispers from the family didn't help.

He wants to blame it all on the death of their father, but this had been happening long before the man had passed. Shimadas born with the Power of the Dragon had shortened lifespans anyway, depending on how often they partook in the dragon’s gifts. Still, it was a surprise to everyone for the strong, calculating Kumicho to die in his sleep from an aneurysm in his fifties, a decade before his earliest projected demise. 

It hadn’t helped that the aneurysm had happened the night Genji returned to the estate, after disappearing without warning for four days. He was lectured on this reckless tendency, which had escalated into a fight, which didn’t so much get resolved as have everyone involved give up. The whole ordeal perhaps did not help with the matters of a weakened arterial system. He could not blame their father’s death on his brother - the position of Kumicho itself held a great deal of stress. But sometimes, he thought that maybe they would have gotten a few more years with him had Genji not been so wild. 

When they sat together after the breakfast was over, no domestics in sight, the silence stubbornly continued. Genji was fiddling with his cell phone, scrolling through something and wincing every few seconds.

“You’d think you’d be used to it by now.” Hanzo says icily, while waiting for his own pain meds to kick in. He regrets his tone of voice immediately when Genji seems to shrink in on himself, head bowing and shoulders drawing in.

“You seem rather uncomfortable as well, brother. Perhaps your constitution is not as strong as you’d like.” He snarks in return. Hanzo supposes he deserved it. He desperately wants to reply back with as much venom, but the last thing he needs is to escalate this into an argument. Genji would simply close off any info he had and flee.

“What happened yesterday?” Hanzo simply asks, forgoing the small talk. He’d no patience for anything besides being straight to the point right now. 

“Nothing at all.” Genji protests, all sweet innocence, a ‘who, me?’ expression on his young face. “It was a good day. You and me talked and walked around town, supported the local businesses. Do you not remember? Are you reaching old age so soon?” He cocks his head to the side and his lips quirked up at the edges.

“I’m sure there are some good pictures and stuff on my phone that can help you remember.” He lifts the slim thing up from his lap and begins to fiddle with his passcode for the lock screen. It feels like he’s deliberately dragging it out, taking longer to build suspense. Hanzo feels his impatience return full force.

“Genji.” He says as a warning.

Genji sighs, humour evaporating.

“I got it. Hold your dragons.”

He shuffles closer to sit side by side. Hanzo peers down at the small screen in his brother’s hands. Genji leisurely flicks through pages of pictures on his phone, from the thumbnails he can see that most of them were selfie style, with himself and his brother grinning with their arms around each others shoulders. There were pictures of himself and Genji with other people he didn’t really know; acquaintances largely lumped together under the group _Genji’s trash friends_. Sometimes his hair was up in a sloppy ponytail, but it seems as the night went on he had taken it out. The backgrounds were various venues, which to his relief were ones he recognised and knew were close by.

“Oh, I also got Hayate-kun to take this for me.” Genji tapped one of the small icons with a video icon on it. It popped up and Genji gave it a second before pressing play.

It was a video of both of them at the arcade, jumping spastically on joint dance pads. Between the music from the game and the random cheers and chatting from Genji’s friends, he has to strain to hear Genji laughing. He himself appeared to be struggling at the game while horrifyingly enough wearing the jeans and t-shirt he had seen discarded on the floor this morning.

 _[Take it easy on me, Greenie. I ain’t good at this. I got two left feet.]_ He hears his own voice say in between breaths for air, but it’s in English of all things and heavily accented like some sort of Hollywood stereotype. It _has_ to be from his mouth, his body, it sounds like him but it’s all _wrong_. It’s eerie, like a scene from a movie where he’s a victim of brainwashing or possessed by some tacky spirit. The lights are on, but he wasn’t home. 

The game screen flashes, declares Genji the winner while a fake audience cheers.

 _[One more round.]_ Recording Genji says in English, and then he hears himself reply.

_[Alrighty Greenback. I’ll give ya one more.]_

The playback ends. The video exits full screen. With a keen eye, he sees multiple other videos under the same timestamp, most are short - under a minute or two - but one is five and looks like it’s the last one of the night.

Hanzo wants to see them. Curiosity, and the driving need to know what happened during his black out. But part of him also fears what he will see. It might be better to spare himself the shame and stay blissfully ignorant. So long as it never happens again, with time they can pretend none of this ever happened.

While he debates the merits of each choice Genji goes to click the next video without prompting and Hanzo’s stomach does flips.

They’re still in the arcade, set up this time by a different machine. He’s got a motion tracking fake pistol in his hand, and spins it around a finger before pointing it at the screen with flashy bravado. When the machine chimes the signal to start, he pulls the trigger at the screen and flicks the muzzle lazily from target to target. The reaction time is excellent, and he hears Genji exclaim something about a combo before the video cuts off.

“Here’s one while we were at the bar. It’s my favourite. I know you’ll find it interesting.” He skips ahead in the order and goes and taps the video’s icon with a finger.

Genji is speaking from behind the camera. The view is pointed at exclusively Hanzo, hair down and looking happy. _Glowing_ , with the good drink, atmosphere and company.

 _[This is for proof, so you can’t deny our agreement later Anija. If you pass out first, the loser has to obey a single request from the winner. It can be anything they want.]_ Recording Genji says.

He watches himself fiddle with his glass, swirling around the amber drink inside thoughtfully. Was that straight whiskey he was drinking? And in public? His looming sense of horror from the first video only grows stronger. First the clothes, and now this. _How uncivilised._ Then his image smirks. It’s more cocky than his usual look. He has lost any form of subtlety.

 _[Okay Greenback. Sounds good to me.]_ says his not-voice, and the recording ends.

“Oh, and here’s part two - “ Genji goes to the next video, but Hanzo shakes his head.

“No. Stop.” He didn’t want to see any more of his puppet body, him but not him. It was disturbing. The unknown aspect of it all was terrifying. What had caused this? Would it happen again?

“Stop with your childish games - if you gave me anything, I swear by the dragon. …”

Genji looks up from his phone, eyes wide with shock.

“Wha - brother, of course not!! I would never…” His shock turned to hurt which quickly turned to anger, the dragon’s fire beginning to burn within him. “Just who do you think I am? Do you honestly think I would drug you? Is my honour so little to you?”

“I am not certain of much anymore. Many people have changed - you most of all since Father passed away.”

Genji is scowling at him, and he moves from in seiza to his feet. Hanzo glares back, his gaze heavy as iron.

“Sit down. You have not been dismissed yet.”

“I don’t care!” Genji’s voice rises until he’s practically yelling. Hanzo doesn’t even want to think of how many people are listening in to their latest argument, or the amount of gossip it would cause on top of the apparent disaster that was yesterday. “Just because you were born first does not mean that you are not the boss of me! I am held down by no one; I am a dragon too and in that we are equal!”

“If you wish to rule with me as my equal, you need to at least respect yourself. I know you do not respect me, your birthright, or your clan, but even you can attempt to hold some dignity in your personal affairs.”

Genji has pocketed the phone, and now his hands are gripping the fold of the yukata like he was uncomfortable wearing his brother’s clothes. Like he couldn’t stand anything related to his brother touching him.

“…You don’t know anything,” his voice trembles slightly with anger. ”Stop acting like you know anything of me. You’re the one who’s changed the most since Father…”

“-I am stepping forward to do what needs to be done.” Hanzo cut in sharply. “Soon you will have to do the same. But for a long while I have been lenient. We _all_ have been lenient. And yet, despite my kindness I see you took advantage of me. You allowed me to go out in public dressed like the common rabble, and allowed videos and pictures to be taken of us that ruin our clan’s image. What would people think if they saw the new Shimada Kumicho dressed like a peasant, out getting drunk and messing around in arcades all day?? This, not two months since our father’s demise? They’d say we were weak. That I am inexperienced and undisciplined and will run the clan into the ground after hundreds of years of success.” 

“Or, they might think that you knew how to have fun. That you were acting your age, and out strengthening your bond with your blood for once.” Genji mutters under his breath. He’s stopped in front of the door. It’s a miracle of his restraint that he hasn’t already fled off to some dark corner of the city as is his habit. 

Hanzo wonders what stopped him. Why was this time any different from any other of their last dozens of fights? If this were a week ago Genji would already be gone, disappeared into the city, off to buy alcohol or who knows what and to not return until sunrise, or if he felt particularly spiteful, not to return for many days.

For once he can see past the rebellious attitude, and sees only the young teen who had been excited to spend the day with his brother, no matter what form it was in. There had been at least a hundred pictures on his phone.

“Perhaps.” Hanzo concedes softly, planned lecture dying before it ever left his lips. “But those that think that way are not people that would want to do us and our family harm.”

He’s not as prickly this time in his response, and Genji knows him well enough to take this as an offered olive branch. It was too early to be fighting. At least, for today.

“…I didn’t do anything to you.” Genji repeats, in a tone just daring Hanzo to call him a liar. The teen had taken the olive branch but refused to step away from the fire, defensive till the end. 

“You slept in. Missed meditation, breakfast, and training with great-Uncle Takeshi. Everyone thought you were sick and left you alone. When I went to get you, you were…different. You wanted to do something fun, so I took you out and kept an eye on you.” When Hanzo looks thoughtful and does not rise to oppose his words, Genji douses the metaphorical fire. His frown then flips and he’s grinning, mood recovered, ( _always so labile with his emotions_ ) half-bouncing back into the room to lean towards the elder brother.

“Where did you go for your day? What did you do? Do you remember?”

“You don’t actually believe that I switched bodies with someone, do you? Life is not this much like the stories we were told.”

“Well, if you’d rather be considered crazy…”

Hanzo’s face screwed up. Genji considered it a victory.

“Exactly. Besides, it was _clearly_ not you. You didn’t even know how to speak _Japanese_ brother. If this was some kind of mental split, you’d probably still speak your native tongue. And we both know that someone having multiple personalities doesn’t exist. That stuff is all made up for movies.”

It would not be impossible. Magic runs through his family’s veins. This would not be so impossible.

“We can research this.” Hanzo says carefully. “We can look through the stored family autobiographies. Perhaps this has happened to others in our family. I do not recall anything in my glances through them before, but it may be time to revisit the records room in more depth.”

“Do you think this is in the bloodline?” Genji wasn’t good at hiding his hopeful tone. His face was filled with glee. “Do you think this could happen to me too?? I want to spend a day in the life of a foreigner!” He pouts. “It’s not fair that you get all the fun.”

“It’s not fun.” Hanzo says curtly. Best he assured Genji of that now and spare any more petty jealousy coming between them on top of everything else. Trying to think back on his swap experience was harder than impossible. Everything was murky. Trying to grip at the dream-memories made them explode into dust. “I hope it never happens again. Once is enough for me.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I can’t even remember my _adventure._ It’s doing no good. There was no point to it.”

“You should try harder to remember then! Write a diary. Oh!” Genji’s eyes lit up. “Actually, I just got a better idea. Text me during the swap. Send me pictures! You have my number memorised, right?”

That was… not actually a bad idea. This was the twenty-first century. There’s no way he won’t be able to get a hold of a cell phone. He’d steal one if he had to. This was a better plan than anything he had apparently done during his last swap.

Telling Genji that would only make him smug.

“If it happens again, I will try to contact you.” He says instead.

“Excellent!” Genji whoops. “I can’t wait to see who you swapped with! I hope he’s cute!”

Hanzo snorts.

“I hardly see how that’s relevant.”

“Of course it’s relevant!! It’s the most important part!!” Genji protests. “You gotta see things my way, brother. He kept asking for a cowboy hat and half the time spoke like he was in some old American movie. No man would act as he did if he wasn’t hot enough to get away with it. Well, that or he’s completely insane.”

“You are filling me with confidence, little brother.”

“Trust me! Everyone I met in a bar or club doing a shtick like that was hot. Or over the age of forty. But he didn’t _seem_ forty.”

It was natural that Genji would focus on the appearance, being the flirt that he was. Hanzo was more worried about their income and social status. He got a tiny smile.

“What, are you going to flirt with him if he is cute?” He teases. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

Genji pauses a second, then turns red as a strawberry, the bright colour stretching ear to ear and meeting at his nose.

Both he and his brother shared the same blush. It was hideously obvious and Hanzo knew Genji hated it. _A loud blush on a guy isn’t cool_ , Genji had whined to him once. Hanzo hadn’t cared too much personally- he hardly ever got embarrassed or flustered enough to warrant his body responding with one. His schooled composure was a point of pride for him, and also something Genji often attempted to tear down.

_But, with this sort of reaction…_

“Don’t tell me you tried to flirt with him.” Hanzo says flatly. Genji quickly looked at the floor. _Oh Gods. He had. My little brother has no sense of shame. Did nothing hold his libido back?_

“And while he was in my body???” He suddenly remembers having woken up in a bed with Genji while both of them had only been in their underwear, and is horrified.

“Look!” Genji protested. “It’s fine! The topic just sorta… came up. We were just really drunk!” At Hanzo’s increasing look of revulsion he hastily continued: “Nothing happened!! Of course I wouldn’t try anything while he’s in your body, it’d be too gross - and he said I wasn’t his type, anyway! You can’t blame me for thinking about trying. He seemed like the type of guy to be a lot of fun -”

“-Genji!”

“- and maybe if I ever got to meet him in-person, I could go for it. But he said he wasn’t into me. Or my hair.”

“Your…hair?”

“He hated my hair, brother!! He made fun of it all day, and then said he wasn’t into kids with green hair. I do not look like a child. I’m seventeen! Basically an adult. Everyone’s right; Americans have no taste.”

“On the contrary, perhaps this is the one thing he does have good taste in.”

Genji pouted, dramatically flailing back to lie on the floor, bubble of confidence popped.

“You’re ruthless.”

“I know.” He says fondly and reaches over to flick Genji in the forehead. 

“I’m the eldest. It’s my job.”

\---  


They wander back to their respective rooms to get properly ready for the day, Hanzo feeling lighter than he had felt in weeks. Perhaps things were looking up.

A maid is waiting outside his door. When she sees him, she bows low and tells him he’s wanted in the council room in an hour. He doubts this sudden meeting with the family line of command would go as smoothly as his morning talk with Genji. 

\---  


As always, everyone was arranged in a large sweeping three-quartre circle, with Hanzo sitting at the top position near the middle of the arrangement. Not quite in the same elevated position as his father. As a sign of respect he wasn’t to sit in his father’s spot until after his ashes had been brought to their final resting place at the sacred family mausoleum.

Though he arrived exactly at the time the messenger had relayed to him, it seemed he was the last one to make it to the room. For a meeting called so unexpectedly and suddenly, this coordinated effort on behalf of his family did not bode well.

“Hanzo-sama.” His great-Uncle Hideyoshi greets him coolly, and with that reproachful start he knows his actions yesterday did not escape notice. His back prickles. _They know._ Through spies or simple observation - he does not know how sneaky Genji had tried to be - Hanzo knows by now they probably have had a full account of yesterday's events.

“Yesterday seems to have been… interesting for you.” Hideyoshi-san continues with thinly veiled distaste. His great-Aunt by marriage follows up on her husband’s comment immediately.

“Yes. It was unique, to say the least. You are in good health?” She inquires, nosy for only the wrong reasons. Great Aunt Kotone had always been a gossipy one.

“Yes, thank you.” Hanzo replies shortly. “I am fine.”

Then his youngest Uncle, Kenichi, spoke up.

“You and your brother were absent for all your studies and training yesterday. Most unusual for you, Young Master. You do not need to let Genji-kun influence you so. It is kind of you to give up your time to amuse him, but unnecessary. Let him go his own way.”

If this was all they were going to lecture him about, he was fine. He had heard it all before, and knew what to say to appease them. 

Unfortunately, he had never been that lucky, no matter what Genji believed.

“It may be too late to bring him back into the fold.” Uncle Takeshi says sternly, his beard trimmed to as sharp a point as his gaze. “Genji has always been spirited. He lacks discipline.”

“Indeed. It may soon be time to try alternative methods.” Eldest cousin Isamu’s voice was quiet but carrying. The gold tattoo on his neck flashed menacingly. Despite his lack of wisdom, (and lack of a dragon) he had never been afraid to speak up during council. 

There were unanimous nods around the room.

In the brief pause, Hanzo stole the chance to speak before it escalated any further. 

“Our esteemed Father’s death is still fresh in his mind.” Hanzo says in weak defence. His words might as well be wet tissue paper. “His behaviour will improve. I am certain of it.”

The silence he is met with is oppressive. Thick. The judging eyes of his elderly relatives and high-ranked cousins told him all he needed to know. Genji was on thin ice and wearing lead shoes. At this rate, he’s on a fast track to exile. Then his little brother would be out all alone in some other city, shunned, nameless, disgraced and even a bigger danger to himself than he was now.

No matter how wild Genji got sometimes, or rubbed at his nerves to the point of exasperation, he couldn’t let that happen. He wasn’t ready to slam and lock the door just yet.

“Very well.” Cousin Ichirou replied, splitting through the heavy silence with a strangely easy assent. The less-mature of the room look at him in surprise, not used to or aware of the need to hold an impassive expression.

“You know him best, after all.”

Hanzo breathes a hidden sigh of relief. There was still time to fix things, even if Genji didn’t like it.

Blessedly, talk was moved to another topic. One he hadn’t heard breached in months.

“Has anything been decided about Masuyo-san?” Aunt Kimiko asks, more to the room than to him. Hanzo feels his stomach sink like he had swallowed a rock. He had hoped they had forgotten about this issue. But of course they hadn’t -this was a matter of practicality after all, and he had never had a say in it, even when his father had still been alive. It was like he was fifteen all over again.

“Their family will visit again next month. The Hamasaki Oyabun is getting antsy. It’s been a while since their last visit, due to the unexpected tragedy. They were wondering if the engagement will go ahead as planned.”

_Ah. This._

One of the many _honours_ of being the first born. Arranged marriage. It had been too much to hope that the whole thing would be forgotten about. He had accepted this part of his life, but wished the marriage didn’t have to happen so soon. Right now, it was set for the spring after his fiancée’s twenty-first birthday, making him just about six months into his twenty-second year. It was only two years away. Two years too soon.

Lucky that it would be formality more than anything. It would be a tie commemorating a friendship and business partnership between their clan and a large rival competing for the monopoly on a particularly strategic port city. If he wished, he wouldn’t even have to share the same room with his wife until it was time to produce heirs. 

It was fine. What better could he get than a marriage pre-approved by his family that will make the clan stronger? Nobody would love him in that way anyway, not legitimately. Not he, the leader of the infamous and far reaching _Shimada-gumi_ , Yakuza _royalty_. 

He could get anyone with those credentials, but that would be a weak willed partner who viewed him for his status, for what he could offer them. Waving around his name to get shallow bed partners may be fine for his brother, but Hanzo found it distasteful. Dishonourable. Unthinkable. 

_True love_ \- as stupid and fanciful the idea was - was impossible for a young man in his position. His parents had been an arranged marriage, as well as a few of his Aunts' and Uncles' marriages. So had his Grandparents' marriage, and he presumed his great-Grandparents’ had been as well. 

As if acutely aware of his thoughts, the ring seemed to hang heavy on the chain around his neck. He focused on the feel of it on his skin and used it to center himself.

With faded memories as a guide, he recalls that his parents were fairly content together. For the brief years he remembers preceding their mother’s death, they were indeed a happy family. 

There could be worse fates than growing to care for someone over years of companionship, even if it had started off forced.

“She and a few family members will be here on the twenty-seventh of next month. Does this appeal to you, Young Master?” Uncle Kenichi asks.

Them asking for his approval was just a formality, like with every other decision involving his life. They would do what they wanted anyway, no matter his words. He supposed even as leader, even with the power of _two dragons_ behind him, he was viewed as too young to make major choices for himself or the clan just yet.

“That is acceptable.” He replies, and feels his gut sink just a little lower.

 _It’s fine_ , he thinks as his family smiles at him lukewarmly, as they voice their polite approval of his ‘choice’ as if he had one ( _formality, formality_ ) before moving on to other topics. _It’s fine_.

_It’s the best I can hope for._


	5. Hanzo III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Drags self back from the void*  
> I'M SO SORRY!! I KNOW IT'S BEEN AWHILE. (Two months??) SCHOOL AND SOME WACKY IMPULSIVE SHENANIGANS PULLED ME INTO THE VOID. But! Finals are done now, so things should speed up a bit.  
> Also, If this chapter seems disjointed, it's cause I wrote it all at random times (half while I was in clinical) so it's pretty wild.
> 
> This chapter is long as heck. 18 pages on a word document. I suffer.
> 
> Thank you so much for all you guys' kindness! (I don't deserve itttttttt ;n;)  
> ENJOY

\-------------------------------------------  


When Hanzo awakens again in that western, grey and orange room, he wants to _scream_.

It had only been a few days since the last switch. Genji was going to be _thrilled_ \- his clan, less so. If it kept up at this rate, they’d both be exiled.

Now that he was back, memories of the events during his previous swap came easier. He reached over and flicked the alarm clock off before it could scream static at him again. He stares at the ceiling and lets himself drift for a few minutes longer.

It was doubtful that he’d get as lucky as last time and get to skip out on the full day. Best prepare for what was to come. 

_Wait. A phone._

Genji had given him the bright idea of trying to contact him. Did the American own a cell phone? He must. That or some form of internet using device. 

Rolling out of bed, Hanzo starts digging through every drawer available to him. Nothing in the bedside table besides the same old revolver, along with a small blue notebook. It was the same one he had grabbed while in the medbay with those horrid movies. Hanzo snatches it up and puts it aside on the bed for later viewing. If it was here now rather than back in the infirmary where he had left it, then the American must’ve seen it. Maybe there was some new information within, which would lead to some more insight on this situation.

Nothing else new in the drawers. No devices on top of the dresser. What, was this man - this _Jesse McCree_ \- in the stone ages? He drops onto his knees and checks under the bed. It was clean as a whistle. Almost military. Then he checks between the mattress and the bottom box spring. There’s a thin, flat device hiding there. 

_Excellent, a tablet,_ he thinks and pulls it out. He holds down his thumb on the only button and waits for the fingerprint recognition to kick in.

The device unlocks and opens onto the last used activity, ready to be resumed.

Hanzo immediately starts to sweat.

Porn. The device was filled with _porn._ He tries rapidly tapping the back icon on the screen, and it only brings him out of the video into a folder filled with more pictures and videos. Then the device freezes - damn thing was probably filled with viruses - and he averts his eyes from the extra-large thumbnails while he waits for the device to become controllable again.

 _This McCree didn’t seem to have a preference towards gender at any rate,_ he thinks. He could respect that. It was surprising, but respectable. _No wonder he got along with Genji._

Hanzo waits the device out. Eventually it goes to its equivalent of a home screen, if it could be called that.

It was extremely bare-bones, there was no apps on it besides the factory defaults like media gallery, settings, and internet browser. He taps on the browser and waits patiently. When it opens, it’s to a grey page cheerfully informing him that; _Sorry, the page could not be found. Please check for an internet connection or try reloading._

He tabs out and goes into settings, taps onto the wi-fi section and waits for available access points to pop up. The saved settings of previous connections are still there, in a long grey list indicating the device’s owner is either someone who often mooches off of other’s internet or someone who travels a lot. Maybe both. He flicks down the list and reads a few names. _Chariott guest wifi. Kaffeehaus2, SecureOW41, DL990-Link. Herecomedatboi._ All out of range.

No internet connection. Of course. _Why else would Jesse have all his porn downloaded?_

Internally he cringes at his use of the first name. It felt too personal. Even when swapping bodies with the man, it felt far too soon to refer to him as such.

So no phone, or at least no phone in the bedroom. No internet connection.

Hanzo supposes he’s not contacting Genji any time soon. Maybe everyone in the building used carrier pigeons? Messages in a bottle? Telepathy?

The radio clock shows the time as zero-five fifty hours. He has a few minutes. 

The notebook on the bed gets his attention once again. He flicks through the pages and passes his notes and sketches - pausing briefly at the page where he had written out everyone’s names for a quick refresher - and stops once he no longer recognises the writing.

McCree’s writing is as sloppy and unrefined as he himself seemed to be. It was nothing Hanzo hadn’t expected. He has to squint and reread many words multiple times over just to try to make sense of them, and the sentences are all over the place, hardly sticking to the lines. McCree seemed to prefer to clump them into sections, little bubbles of paragraphs that paid no heed to the proper alignment of the paper.

 _‘Who am I?’_ Is written in the messy penmanship, a mocking echo to Hanzo’s honest question of days ago. He can practically sense the writer’s aggravation through the pen pressure and the hastily written scrawls. 

_Seems to me you already have a good idea, of me and everybody else here. I’m the one who should be asking you questions. What happened yesterday? What did you do?? It’s all your fault that Jefe’s been actin weird, isn’t it? Damn, I feel crazy writing to myself like this. Other me, if you can read this, you’d better respond!_

Hah. What a fool. He did a far better job than Jesse had done in his place. The guy should be thanking him. Neither of them had asked for this.

 _Jefe._ He rolls the foreign word around in his mouth. It could be a name? He was certain he didn’t meet anyone with that name during their previous swap. He’d have to keep an eye out this time, then, if they were that important to McCree here. 

The writing continued in a smaller blurb spaced a bit from the rest; 

_Also, you should’ve got Fareeha to paint my nails in maroon. The blue doesn’t suit me at all. It took me over an hour to scrape it all off. Now everything I eat tastes funny._

_Scrape it off?_ Hanzo screwed up his face. Why scrape it off with your teeth? _Did they not have nail polish remover?_ It seemed like far too much effort for something so simple. Then it hit him- _had McCree been too proud to go to the girl to ask for it?_

How sweet. The American was considerate of the girl’s feelings.

The rest of the notebook page was tacky stick figures drawings and a final message of; _if this is Fareeha or Torbjörn messing with me, expect one hell of a revenge scheme when I find out. And I’ll find out!_

Hanzo dug in the drawer for a pen. If they were going to be pen pals, he might as well start his letter back nice and early.

  
\--

Hanzo leaves the bedroom more confidently than the last time they swapped. He takes a shower, then takes a risk on a toothbrush, and neatened up his face with a disposable razor. He nicked himself a fair few times, unused to the shape of his face. It took much self-restraint, but he left the soul-patch as it was - it wouldn’t be fair to shave the thing off without permission, no matter how ugly it was. Perhaps if their swaps became more of a habit he could breach the topic.

Hanzo forgoes the ugly belt once more, throwing on the only clean clothes he could find, which ended up being some brandless sweatpants and a red tee shirt. It went against all of his personal instincts. Even when sparring or exercising with Genji they dressed in traditional and presentable attire. Sweatpants were for when one was sick and lounging around the house.

He accepted it in this case - it wasn’t his own body’s reputation he was ruining - and drew tight the pants’ drawstrings.

On his way to the kitchen he spots the room with all the computers and ducks inside. He taps at the closest keyboard to wake the computer out of idle mode and is greeted by the loading of a homepage prompting him to enter his user ID and password. Scowling, Hanzo turns the monitor off. So much for that plan.

Too bad too, he had been almost excited to contact his brother, start up a video call and hear or read some reassuring Japanese. At least then Genji would have proof for real that he wasn’t just being crazy. Not to mention it would give him the opportunity to yell at McCree in real time and tell him not to fuck around this time with so many witnesses.

He hadn’t much hope for that.

Breakfast was simple. The whole crew was there again; the child had mini braids in her hair and a pale blue casual dress, her mother with a long thick braid peeking out from under a hijab. The boisterous, muscular giant of a man waved at Hanzo when he entered. He slightly inclined his head in return. 

He could feel the keen eyes of the woman and darker skinned man on him, and forced his lips to twitch into a weak smile before doing a mock salute.

“Good morning.” His words are stilted, he knows. But nobody really reacts, besides the man - Gabriel, he remembers - looking at him for just a second too long. He swallows and looks down.

The dwarf and the German dominate the conversation as always, and it lets him sink into the background while observing the room and everyone in it. 

No phone, of course. Not even an archaic land-line attached to the wall. This was going to be harder than originally anticipated.

They’re a strange group, he knew that much. They were all oddly informal with each other, way too comfortable slipping into slang and leaning a little too far past the boundaries of personal space. How could he be expected to pull this off? He, the intruder, an accidental interloper in their midst?

Still, around him conversation rose and fell like an ocean, even after the blonde man - Morrison - carried over plates of pancakes, eggs and bacon. He laid them on the table and people dug into them like vultures. Hanzo waited until he was sure he wouldn’t get stabbed with somebody’s fork before taking his share of food.

Ana and her daughter were in charge of breakfast dishes today it seemed, and the German Giant stayed behind to help with the formidable pile. Hanzo attempts to slip away from the table, desperate to find some quiet corner of the base to mull away the day when Gabriel spots him and barks out; 

“McCree. Ten minutes, then meet in the training yard.” Then he turns back to the blonde man and continued some quiet conversation involving a lot of hand gestures. 

“Yes Sir.” He replies. There was no avoiding socialising this time. He starts to leave, exiting the kitchen and slowly stepping down the hallway with no direction. Maybe he can manage to find the right training yard before time runs out and he ends up late. Training _yard_ would insinuate that it is outside, so the mini gymnasium he spotted the other day was probably _not_ where he needed to go.

Well, he had ten minutes. That should be long enough to find wherever it was he needed to be. He wanders the halls, eyes peeled for a fire exit map. Honestly, he’d take anything.

A large hand smacks him on the back companionably and jolts him out of his thoughts. A quick glance shows the offender to be the dwarf, and Hanzo twitches with irritation. At home, if anyone besides his brother dared to touch him without permission in such a way he’d have their hand removed.

“Y’okay lad?” The Swede asks. “Yah look nauseated. It wasn’t Morrison’s cooking, was it?” He chuckles, smacking his hands together with glee. “No problem, I can tell him yer complaint myself -“

“No.” Hanzo corrects quickly, it wasn’t good to cause strife where it wasn’t due. Playing into some behind-the-scenes culinary pissing contest was not his prerogative. “I was simply lost in thought.”

Torbjörn cocked a bushy eyebrow. They were like white-blonde caterpillars.

“Is that so? Well,” he chuckles, “don’t think too hard. Y’look like yer gonna blow a gasket! And not the kind I know how t’fix.”

There’s a pause where they both stare each other down, the dwarf waiting for some sort of reaction. Should he laugh? If the man’s last comment was a joke, it wasn’t that funny. Hanzo desperately grapples for some change of conversation topic. He doesn’t know how to appropriately reply in a way that won’t draw even more suspicion.

“…are you going to the training yard as well?” He finally asks. The man scoffs.

“Training yard? Hah! Lad, when have I ever gone there? You must be really out of it today. Y’didn’t even fight Reinhardt for t’last pancake! Did yeh stay up all night again?” 

Now that he mentioned it, Torbjörn did not seem the type of man to enjoy running laps. He was a bit rotund, but his exposed arms were huge and beefy with hard packed muscle, making the tattoo on his right upper arm pop. His strength was all utility. Was he a labourer of some kind?

Hanzo lets silence be his reply and Torbjörn fills in the blanks on his own. He grins, a rough thing half hidden by his huge beard.

“Don’t y’worry, I won’t tell Reyes. Just try not t’fall asleep while yer out there. I made new bots for the training yard and I think yer testin’ em out today. I need accurate feedback! Jack said the last batch weren’t aggressive enough. Pah!”

_So he was an engineer of some kind. That suited him._

“Training bots.” Hanzo states, almost in disbelief. How effective could they be compared to living, breathing opponents? He had little experience against robots, whether it was the old ones with every reaction pre-programmed, or the newer ones with the shiny new name _omnic_ and their supposed free will. Genji had thrown up a fuss, having an interest in all things technological, but their father had said no to any social interactions with the intelligent robots. He said they couldn’t be trusted nor have their intentions easily read; or at least, not like a flesh-and-blood man could. Then he ensured that they both were given special education regarding the weak spots of tin men with no hearts.

The engineer hums, and starts to walk away, heavy steps thumping down the hall.

“No spoilers!” He laughs. “You’ll know when y’see them.”

Hanzo’s brow furrowed. Was he going to have to destroy all the robots? What sort of facility was he in?

“Wait!” He calls out hurriedly to the retreating dwarf. If anyone on this base knew about getting onto the computers, wouldn’t it be the engineer? “I seem to have forgotten my user ID and passcode. How do I obtain a new one? I would like to access the internet.”

Torbjörn looks at him like he was asking if the sky was blue. 

“What are yeh on about? Did Reyes clock ya too hard in t’head?” He squints, eyes staring into Hanzo’s as if checking for a concussion. “There is no internet, not since it all got hacked. It’s not safe. As for the ID an’ passcode, y’never had one in t’first place. Yer not authorised to view the records and files kept there. Nice try, lad.” He chuckles and does a dismissive wave while still walking away. 

“What about a phone?” He tries. “Surely there is a phone here I could use?”

“A phone?? Lad, whatever would y’want a phone for? I hardly think people are by their phones, these days.”

What could he say to that? He needed to contact his brother; that was the truth of it. But it was McCree’s body saying this. Did the American have a brother? Would the others at the base know if he did have family outside of them?? He couldn’t say the real reason; it’d be too suspicious if he were questioned about it and replied incorrectly.

But everyone had friends, right? Surely McCree was known to have companions outside the base that he’d like to chat with.

“I need to contact a friend.”

Torbjörn scratches his chin, looking unconvinced.

“Well, Reyes has a line in his office. Secure and encrypted. It’s mostly used in contact with the UN. Y’could ask him, if it’s so important to yah.”

Hanzo nods. This he could work with.

“Thank you.”

The dwarf taps his watch.

“Now enough lollygagging! Yeh should hurry! Reyes is gonna kick yer arse if yer late!”

Hanzo gives himself a second more to stare after the man in disappointment before turning on his heel and resuming his search. 

He wasn’t going to run. _That’d be undignified_ , and he was _better_ than that.

 _Briskly_ walking though, that was acceptable.

  
\--

He ends up climbing through an open window in lieu of finding an actual door to the outdoors, then circles around the outside of the building, and has to drag himself up and over two more walls before ending up where he assumes is the proper place. It took much more effort than it should have. McCree’s body was not as honed as his was, at least not in the way of upper body strength.

The enclosed field had sections of waist-high cover, a few bricked walls taller than him, and shoddily crafted buildings out of what appeared to be scrap metal. Some sort of storage shed was in the corner, its door left wide open. Maybe Gabriel was inside. Maybe he didn’t notice him being late yet. There was hope. He walks to where grass becomes concrete. Stops and waits.

Hanzo stands with his posture so straight he feels his back crack, and ends up folding his hands together into an awkward, tense tangle. Nothing left now but to accept his fate. And his likely scolding.

When Gabriel emerges from the shed, he’s being followed by a hoard of boxy robots. Clunky and shiny and buzzing with electricity; their heads had no proper face - not like some sentimental builders who liked to put some humanity into their creation- but rather appeared to have some sort of scanner.

“Torbjörn made these just for us.” Gabriel says, tapping at some bulky tablet with an antenna that was in his hands. “Today’s going to be a bit different. For operation Ragnarök you’ll be part of the main force, so you’re going to need to learn how to be stealthier.” He pauses then to shoot Hanzo a doubtful look. “Which I know you have trouble with. You could work on your subtlety, too.”

Stealth was something he could manage. He was an assassin. The day he failed at something like this was the day he would give up his position in the clan. Hanzo wasn’t yet used to distributing McCree’s weight, nor was he completely attuned to the man’s limits strength-wise. He couldn’t be sure on McCree’s personal ability to complete this challenge if it was actually him here, but he assumed his chances would’ve been as bad as Gabriel insinuated.

Hanzo was still certain he could do a better job than McCree himself, even with the circumstances.

“What task would you have me complete?” Hanzo anticipates the worst. He’s prepared for anything. 

“Get into there.” Gabriel points at the shack made of scrap with the orange circle marked on it in spray paint. “Grab the suitcase, and get out without being detected. The bots are all programmed to move unpredictably, and they are sensitive to sound as well as light and vibrations. I’ll keep track of your time and watch your movements from the cameras built into the robots.”

The robots booped and beeped and began to roll out into the yard, wandering about the cover and disappearing behind the roughly made hovels. There were twelve in all. If their movements were as randomised as Gabriel said, then it would make for a very tight window to get in and get out.

“Am I able to attack the robots in any way?” Hanzo asks. They had true heads with thinner necks, and their forward-facing scanner looked to give them a blind-spot if you came at them from behind. They were ideal for being approached and back stabbed. There’d never be such horridly ineffective training bots at his home.

“Uh,” Gabriel seems confused by his question, lips pursing. “You can, but your gun will make too much noise. They’ll all be alerted immediately. - And no, before you ask, I’m not getting you a silencer.”

“That is fine. I wasn’t thinking of using a gun.” He’d kill for a bow, or for a knife, but he doubted Gabriel would be willing to go fetch him one of those.

Gabe blinks, face unchanging. “Excuse me?”

Hanzo can’t stop the smug grin from spreading across his face. He’d show him. Stranger’s body or not, he wouldn’t lose to something as easy as this.

“You can start the timer now.” 

Dumbfounded, Gabriel pulls out a timer and clicks it, the teal numbers projecting out and starting to run up by the millisecond.

Hanzo sprints forward.

The first waist-high cover he sees he vaults over without regard to anything. His goal was to get to high ground and watch the robots from there. Even if Gabriel said that they didn’t follow a pattern, they must. Even humans followed patterns when it came to patrolling.

He gets to one of the higher walls and climbs it, hanging from his fingers and clinging to the top for a few seconds before pulling himself to balance atop it. He’s higher than the robots vertical range of sight it seems, unless they have the capacity to look upwards. But so long as he’s quiet, they should have no need to do so.

He was going to pass this test the first time. He was going to be a better McCree than McCree himself.

There’s a burning prickling of the back of his neck from being observed. Again, it reminded him of the stinging, silent judgement of his own late father. Gabriel meant business. He was going to get it perfect, no, _better than perfect_ the first time.

One of the robots passed beneath him, puttering forward, scanners ineffectually facing front. Hanzo drops behind, landing only a little less than silent - damn McCree, still wasn’t used to their bodily differences - and drives the hard of his palm into the back of the robot’s head. It jerks forward and down, leaving its neck vulnerable, and it only takes a simple swipe of the fingers and a hard yank with his hand to pull out the wiring that was exposed there. Even if it didn’t disable the robot completely it should at least cut off communication from the main body to its scanner, effectively leaving the robot deaf and blind.

Luckily for him, the hum of machinery fades out a second after the wires are yanked out and the robot powers off, drooping against the shoddy cover.

_One down. Eleven to go._

They really were very cheaply made.

He hears another robot from around the corner and runs back to the other side of some concrete cover. Counts to five seconds. There is startled beeping from what sounds to be close-by and Hanzo risks a brief glimpse around the edge of the concrete to get a visual. The robot is scanning the remains of its fallen comrade.

Hanzo jumps out from behind cover and takes the second robot down just like the first. Then he drags the husks away from the main path.

_Ten to go._

There is little difficulty in creeping around and over what little cover is offered to him while dispatching the boxy automatons. By the time there are three left, he sees little point in continuing to pick them off and simply walks into the building, grabs the suitcase, and leaves, heavy case slung casually over his shoulder while he walks back to Gabriel.

“I believe this is yours.” He’s polite, and tries to keep a flat face while looking up at the stern man. “What was my time?” He gently places the briefcase on the ground in front of him.

Hanzo knows how long he took. He kept count.

Gabriel looks down at the timer, and his jaw drops another almost imperceptible centimetre at the numbers there.

“Four minutes and thirty seven seconds.” Gabriel’s voice is almost awed. Hanzo takes it as a compliment; he figures it’s the best he could hope for.

“Did I pass?” Hanzo asks, though he knows the answer is yes. Nostalgia and familiarity makes him want to say; _do my results please you, is it to your expectations, Father?_ But again, he keeps it short and sweet.

“Morrison took six and a half minutes to complete it last night, and he had two close calls.” Gabriel states it like he’s in a daze, still unable to comprehend what he just watched. After a few more glances down at the timer and back up to McCree’s face he comes back to himself, eyes that were once widened by disbelief now narrowing in suspicion. “Jesse, about your time -”

“I could have done it faster if I had a bow, or a knife. If you procure a bow for me, I could do it in half the time.” He says confidently. Those robots were practically a joke. That engineer’s skill was disappointing if those bots were the best he was capable of.

“A bow?!” Gabriel’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

“Traditional or compound. I can use either.” 

Gabriel shakes his head. It seemed he was getting a bit overwhelmed. 

“Look, - Jesse, I had no idea you were so good at stealth. Did you have to break into places as part of Deadlock?”

Deadlock? What was that, some kind of code-word? It wasn't the first time he had come across it; that was the word he saw tattooed on his left forearm the day of their first swap, written messily over the flying skull with a lock. The whole thing was all tackily edgy like some kind of teen metal band.

He plays it safe.

“Sometimes.” 

“Why didn’t you bring it up before? We thought you weren’t ready for stealth. Were you holding back on us or is this just a fluke?”

“It never seemed relevant.”

“Relevant?? Jesse, just a few days ago we had a mission where we had to get in, hack a terminal and get out without being seen. Half of all our missions are stealth.” Gabriel frowns one final time at the stop watch before clearing the time back to zero. “You’ve scored below average on simulations like this in the past. I’ll have to talk to Torbjörn later, maybe he messed up the programming…” Gabriel trails off into a thoughtful quiet, only snapping back to attention once Hanzo tried to take a step back.

“I’m not done with you yet. Torbjörn gave me extras. Do it again.” He turns the clunky tablet back on and taps at it. Hanzo watches another line of robots exit the shed. “Your new mission is to return the briefcase to the orange marked building. You're only allowed to disable five robots.”

Gabriel grins. He readies the stopwatch, his thumb hovering over the start button.

“You have three and a half minutes. Ready for round two?”

  
\---

“He’s acting weird.”

It had been a long day of training with McCree, and the whole experience with the suddenly serious youth had left Gabriel confused and irritated. McCree had been more than proficient at all the tasks he had him run, even the stuff he was _certain_ he had yet to teach the youth.

“Who?” Jack raised an irritating eyebrow, fake innocence plastered on his face like cheap wallpaper. Gabriel shoved his side.

“McCree. Who else?”

“Well, now that you mention it, he has been a bit less of a punk lately. More quiet too. Unusual for him.”

“No shit.” Gabe snorts, but he slides back into serious mode. “It’s like he’s hiding something. But…”

“But?” Jack pressed. Gabriel felt like a fool to bring it up. He dragged a hand down his face, five o'clock shadow slightly rough on his skin.

“It’s like he’s not himself. It’s more than a slight personality change. His eyes were always so easy to read before, being as young as he is. Even after we first picked him up and he thought himself a hard case, he was still pretty easy, and he was at his most defensive then. But sometimes now his eyes become - I don’t know-“ 

He sighs and drops the hand from his face.

“ - Guarded. Like some steel wall has been built up overnight, and it’s there even while being polite for once and calling you _Sir,_ or calling me _Father_ with a straight face.”

Jack whistled, scratching at the back of his neck.

“You really think it’s that complicated? Maybe he’s just growing up. I know it’s hard, but they have to do it some time.” He puts a hand comfortingly on Gabe’s shoulder, but the other shrugs it off quickly, scowling even as Jack was practically giggling beside him.

“You don’t know him as well as me.” He retorts.

“Yes, but has anyone ever told you you’re a bit paranoid?” Jack returns both of his hands to Gabe’s shoulders and rests them a second before dragging them downwards; hands sliding down the arms, the waist, to stop and rest snugly at his hips. “Maybe he's having a bad week? You’re putting too much thought into this.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes, but doesn’t move away.

“Yes. You and Ana love to nag me about it. But who always ends up right?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth he realises that this was Morrison and Amari he was talking about, and as hasty and impulsive Jack may be, and as strategic and careful he himself was, Ana had bailed _both_ of them out more times than he could count and was a mother besides, meaning she, by default, could never be wrong.

The door to the break room opens with a _bang_ , and Ana is standing there out of breath and flushed, slightly rumpled like a bird caught in the wind.

“What are we nagging Gabi about?” She asks, smile turning coy as soon as she spots the hands on hips. “Oops. Maybe I can guess. Should I leave?”

Jack jumps back, hands retracting away after being startled. His face was already turning red.

“Not that, Ana.” He stutters, still awkward after all this time. “Gabe’s being paranoid.”

She sighs dramatically, long and suffering. “What is it this time? Is the UN being inconsistent again?”

“He says McCree’s been acting weird.” Jack says first, quick to the punch as always.

“Well…” Amari’s lips fit together into a thin line, and she hums thoughtfully. “Gabi’s not wrong there. He _has_ been acting different.”

Jack looked back and forth between the two of them, utterly betrayed. “What? Ana, you were supposed to help me tag-team him!”

Gabe ignores Jack’s affront and takes a step towards Ana. She being on his side was a blessing. It means he wasn’t crazy. If he had her on his side, he could take on anything, even stubborn Jack.

“I don’t know what it is. It’s like he suddenly has a secret and is trying to cover it up.”

“Maybe this has always been a part of him and we’re only seeing it now. It’s only been a few years Gabi, I don’t blame him for not trusting us, and you’re not his real father -“ 

“ - I know that - “ Gabe snaps. This was a sore point for him. The team often brought it up to tease him but there was some truth to it, and it made him hate it being mentioned even more. At some point the kid started looking at him as something slightly more than a simple mentor, and he had been sentimental enough to not stop him from doing so.

Jack holds up a palm to shush him while Ana firmly continues to talk over him without waiting for him to stop. Their tag-teaming was always on point.

“ - So you know that you _don’t_ know him as well as you think you do. I’m not saying he’s going to backstab us or run away, but I am saying that discrepancies are to be expected.”

Gabe thinks of McCree’s earlier climbing of a flat wall, and his sudden knowledge of advanced stealth takedowns, all from the boy who struggles to do a simple combat roll the best of times.

_I could do it in half the time if I had a bow._

“Not like this.” He replies stubbornly.

“Well, what does being guarded, secretive and quiet all of a sudden usually mean?” Ana asks. “You’ve both got training in observation. Use it.”

“Sickness? Maybe he’s anxious about the Ragnarök mission?” Gabriel tries. This sort of thing wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. The last time they’d gone on a mission with stakes that high, McCree had been less attached to them all and wasn’t even allowed to see the briefing for the mission, let alone attend.

“Drugs?” Jack suggests bluntly. Ana looks at him.

 _Drugs. He hadn’t considered that._ Maybe some kind of performance enhancers, on top of who knows what-ever else. Couldn’t be from Angela’s supplies, though. She kept strict inventory as a necessity and if someone outside of herself or Ana needed access, they had to go to one of them first. 

“I am not sure.” Ana says slowly. “Anything is possible. You could ask Angela to run tests. I could sleep-dart him and sneak a sample of his blood for her.”

Now that it was mentioned, it seemed a very real possibility. The kid came to them a heavy smoker and after a few days in custody, came down with shakes and sweats but with closed lips as to why.

 _Only occasionally,_ Jesse had mumbled to a questioning Gabriel later, the wrong answer to a different question, half conscious with his cheek pressed to the cold floor and scratching at his tattoo.

 _How occasionally?_ Gabriel had prodded while poking at the kid with his foot. Only got mumbles and a whine in return.

After that hard night, Angela finally managed to get McCree’s signature on medical consent forms. She then gave him a set of injections that seemed to help things along and he was up and being a mouthy brat the day after. She wouldn’t explain to Gabriel what she had done, either. _Patient-doctor confidentiality,_ she had said. For some reason, he hadn’t gone against her words and looked up the newly formed chart anyway.

But for him to return to all that after so long - how would he even get the opportunity, and during the _Crisis_ of all things? Gabriel knew the kid was resourceful, but if he was managing to get a steady supply of anything illegal to a secret base in apocalyptic-like conditions, without any of them noticing on top of all that, it was damn impressive.

Gabriel would kill him, but he’d still be _impressed_.

_Impressed and angry._

“So what, we check his room like he’s a prisoner?” Jack crosses his arms, picking at his sleeve.

“I suggest we wait for more proof first. No point in undoing years of effort by making him feel as we still don’t trust him. Jesse still hasn’t done anything wrong besides act weird for a few days.”

Ana was right of course. If this was a false alarm, then the relationship strain would all be for nothing.

The three finally take a seat, pondering the situation while the late-afternoon sun shines through the window and bounces off the near-fluorescent orange wall-paper, giving everything a slight orange hue.

Torbjörn barges into the break room next, and seeing the three's serious faces stops him dead in his tracks.

“What’s got you lots’ underpants in a twist?” He asks gruffly. “And right before supper, too? Was there bad news from some part of t’world?”

“No.” Gabriel replies shortly, not in any mood to elaborate to the gossipy dwarf. The point was to keep this somewhat quiet after all, which meant Reinhardt and Torbjörn weren’t to know. If either of them found out, their combined loudness and lack of awareness would lead to McCree finding out the situation immediately.

When no one spoke up to fill in the gap, Torb shrugged at the subject drop and padded his way to the chair closest Gabriel. He leaned in, grinning.

“Have it yer way, then. I was just lookin’ for yeh, Commander. Y’see, _yer_ boy was actin’ strange earlier. Asked me some unusual questions.”

All three of their heads snapped up to look at the dwarf faster than they could blink. Gabe wouldn’t be surprised if they all got whiplash. He ignores the teasing jab at his unofficial paternity and instead grimaces at the timing.

Torb viewed the room uneasily, smile falling.

“Uh, were yeh expecting this?”

Gabriel shook his head quickly.

“Just… tell us what happened. What did Jess- _McCree_ ,” He quickly corrects, the subject matter begot formality. “-do this time?”

Torbjörn’s eyes lit up with glee, grinning widely with uneven teeth. He always relished in being storyteller of something juicy, and the bigger the audience the better.

“Well, the lad approaches me while I’m on my way to my workshop, and he asks me - get this - if I know how to get him access to the internet! Hah! Like he doesn’t know already that we’re on a closed system! Then - !!” Torb slaps his side, chuckling, “he asks me if I know where he can get ahold of a phone! A phone!! Hah! Can y’imagine!?”

When the others continue to stare flatly at him, Torbjörn deflates a little.

“I don’t see why yeh all look so sour. “ He complains.

“Did he say why he wanted the phone?” Jack asks, “Or why he wanted the internet access all of a sudden?”

“Said he wanted to contact a friend. Weird, right? Who can y’get ahold of in these times?! Hah! The lad’s losin’ his mind!”

Jack and Ana’s eyes slowly slide back from Torbjörn to stare at Gabriel; they were silent, but the implication was clear. Years ago, when dragged into their interrogation room, McCree had admitted to having no contact with any family, no idea where they were or if they were even alive, _(The first moment Gabe had to stamp out flickering embers of pity)_ and no friends outside of Deadlock. Even after selling out what gang members not caught in the initial sweep, there had always been suspicions that McCree had not been a hundred-percent truthful about giving them all the names he knew.

Compared to this, Gabriel honestly would’ve preferred drugs.

Torb, reading the atmosphere, trails off and looks back and forth between the trio engaged in the stare-off.

“Alright. What am I missin’ here?” He asks.

Gabriel stands. He needed to be alone to think about this.

“Nothing. I’m going to go talk to McCree.”

He crosses the room in fast strides and slams the door shut behind him. Ana and Jack look at the floor, half-cringing, even as the slam echoes into silence.

Torbjörn stares at the door incredulously for a beat, then turns to glare at the two.

“Is the Commander bein’ paranoid again?”

They both shrug, but fail at making it look in any way casual. Torbjörn takes this as affirmation. He sighs, an exasperated smile on his face.

“Classic Reyes. He has to learn to relax!” The dwarf scoffs, then takes a jab at Jack with a stocky finger. “Shouldn’t you be helpin’ him with that?” 

The comment takes a moment to set in.

Jack turns beet red up to his ears and begins to sputter while Ana loudly breaks into laughter, clutching her sides.

“Th - that’s private!” He protests. “And I don’t think I understand what you mean.”

“Uh huh.” Torb says. “You and t’Commander just like havin’ sleepovers most days of the week?”

Ana makes a high pitched squeak, laughing so hard she was struggling for air. Jack was hiding his face in his hands and occasionally muttering out an _Oh God_.

“That’s what I thought!” Torbjörn gruffly says while rolling his eyes. “You lot are all trash at keeping secrets.”

“Who would hide anything from you?” Ana asks rhetorically. Hiding gossip from Torbjörn was like trying to hide cheese from a mouse. 

“True.” Torb agrees. “I _am_ trustworthy. Mouth like a steel vault! Nothing I hear leaves these lips!” He points at his lips for emphasis.

Torbjörn glances about the room conspiringly. Then he leans in, beckoning to Ana and Jack -who has yet to fully recover, blush still slowly draining from his face.

“Speaking of which, me and Angela were talking, and you’re gonna love this…”

  
\--

As it turns out, Gabe did his best brooding while pacing. This was good, because he couldn’t find McCree anywhere, and it gave him ample time to think up a plan of attack. He wasn’t at the training yard, or simulation room. Not at the firing range or common areas, kitchen, bathrooms or even his bedroom.

By the time he paged McCree on his communicator for the fourth time and got no reply - _Damn kid knew it was supposed to be on him at all times, no exceptions!_ \- he had a total of seven possible lectures planned, and was gritting his teeth so hard he’d be surprised if he didn’t accidently chip one.

Brat had to be purposely avoiding him. Since when did he get so _good_ at it? McCree was the kind of straightforward guy that thought hiding behind a door was a smart choice.

After another sweep of the base, he admits temporary defeat and decides to return to his office. Idiot had to show himself at some point. 

  
\--

The most surprising thing about breaking into the Commander’s office was mostly how _easy_ it was. The door wasn’t even _locked_. It also had two outdoor facing windows that didn’t even have screens, and a sizable air exchange vent in the ceiling. Three ways in or out, if you were small enough to make the fit. 

The desk drawer however, as well as the file cabinet, _was_ secured with an lock and key type system. Most of the base he noticed seemed to prefer the old fashioned approach, forgoing electric locks and scans with traditional bolts, keyholes and combination locks.

It likely saved money, but was it as safe? Couldn’t be as secure as modern tech. From what he’s seen so far, the group he’s with had some kind of complex about proper technology. Back home, Hanamura castle was a mixture of both. They liked to keep things at least looking traditional, but there were still advanced systems in play, just disguised under an old fashioned coat of paint.

Hanzo wasn’t good at hacking. Physical locks on the other hand were much easier. If it was a key-lock, it was simply a matter of finding something sturdy, thin and long, and having enough time to pick it. He was suddenly glad of Genji’s love of old American films in their youth and the subsequent inspiration the spy fiction genre had brought to them. They spent hours of their free time learning to lock pick.

He put a hand up to his hair automatically, but there were no bobby-pins in the messy, brown mane of McCree’s. Of course there wouldn’t be, it wasn’t _his_ body. The two black bobby pins he normally kept slipped under his hair at the nape of his neck had never been there in the first place. It seemed McCree didn’t keep himself constantly prepared for a kidnapping- abductors often checked for weapons, much less often did they check for bobby pins.

There was the option of digging around Gabriel’s office and hoping that he finds something he could use, but Gabriel seemed like the type of man to carry any keys with him at all times, and he doubts he’ll find anything suitable in lieu of the lack of pins. There were no paper clips on the desk, so his next best option was out. The whole office was surprisingly barren. The ever elusive phone Torbjörn had mentioned was nowhere to be found.

Perhaps he could sneak into one of the girls’ rooms, look for pins and come back later. He should have thought this through more. In his eagerness he was impulsive.

There was a sound from outside the room. Hanzo freezes in place and stares at the door, body tense and ready to act.

The good thing about the long corridors in the building was that sound echoed very well. Unfortunately, it did not change the fact that Hanzo was standing in Gabriel’s office, without permission, with someone’s heavy footsteps getting closer to his location by the second.

There was nowhere suitable to hide, besides under the desk, and being hidden there would last until Gabriel went to sit down. Staying and lying was an option, but there's few good excuses that would be believed. Escaping was the only real choice he had.

He runs to the window.

  
\--

When Gabriel steps into his office, he gets a distinct feeling that something is _off_. His eyes briefly sweep the room. Nothing seems moved or out of position - not that he had many items in his office to move in the first place.

A soft breeze hits him. He turns and sees one of the windows is wide open.

 _Strange._ Was someone in here cleaning and opened it? There was very few of them living at the base. Maybe it was one of Torb’s cleaning bots? They acted strangely when malfunctioning.

He walks to the window and looks out to see the empty courtyard, then sticks his head outside to look down. Nothing and no one.

_Huh._

He closes the window.

  
\--

Hanzo doesn’t stop running until he’s back in his - _McCree’s_ \- room. _That was too close._

He couldn’t risk that again, not until he could guarantee success without getting caught. He wasn’t going to get McCree in serious trouble, at least not intentionally. If he could avoid it in any way he would. It was sub optimal and disrespectful to mess up his relationships too much - not only for the stranger’s sake, but also for his own. Doing too much damage might make the American act out on his side of their swap for the purpose of retaliation.

He’s certain that McCree could mess up his life much worse than he could mess up McCree’s, and the power inequality there left him uneasy.

He would be called for supper soon. There was a little bit of time, and the notebook and pen were still on top of the bed. Hanzo grabs it and flicks it open to his half written page. 

Might as well finish writing his reply back.


	6. McCree III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. This chapter is marks the end of the “Beginning” section of the story. Next chappie should pick up the plot pace a bit, so everyone better buckle up and hold on. As always, thank you all so much for your support, kudos and comments! I read them all, even when I’m too shy to respond. (How should I do that? Should I do it at all? Do you guys want me to respond back in the comments or do so before the next chapter?)
> 
> Speaking of which, it seems a few sneaky Shinons in the comments have watched Kimi no Na Wa, and therefore all I can really say is **;)**
> 
> Also, sorry for the long wait. I’m currently doing a workterm that requires me to do 12 hour shifts and I’ve been very busy. But I’m done next week so things should pick up! Also I’ve been sitting on this chapter for literal months.  
> ****

The room is familiar. Wood ceilings, woven fabric, sheets silky soft and mattress stuffed with feathers.

He’s been here before. Though he was certain it had been a dream.

McCree sits up and grips at his chest. He’s wearing the weird robe again. This time it’s white and patterned with wisps like that of a feather. He pulls it down and stares at the tattoo again, then runs a hand up through his hair and pulls the silky locks over his shoulder. He had appreciation for his dream self’s hair routine, whatever it was.

It’s bright out. It looks like he slept in again.

Could he sleep in if this was a dream?

“ _Anija! Anata wa okurete imasu_!” The door slides open and Greenie is there, dressed in orange and white and out of breath. He raises an eyebrow. “Futatabi?”

McCree squeezes at his chest one more time for good measure. No room for shame if none of this was real.

“Hey Greenie.” He greets, nonplussed, fingers going up to trace around his nipples. “I told you, I can’t understand a lick’a what you’re sayin’.” Genji’s face split into a wide grin, and he leaps onto the bed, bouncing on the plush mattress. 

“Jesse McCree, you’re back!!”

“You betcha.”

“I can’t believe it!! So soon!” Genji slaps at McCree’s wrist, laughing. “What are you doing? Stop that. Does my brother’s chest interest you this much??”

“Well, yeah. Have you felt it?”

Genji recoils in horror while his face twists in disgust. “What? No!”

“Would you like to?”

“McCree!” Genji’s half-screaming, swatting at the approaching cowboy to keep him back. “McCree I am serious!! Don’t you dare! I refuse to touch my brother’s man-chest!!”

He looks ready to resort to much harsher tactics than simple swatting, so McCree chuckles and slips the robe back on, covering his upper body and securing it with a bow. 

“I will respect your wishes.”

_“Arigato.”_

They relax, sitting on the bed for a moment in comfortable silence, McCree still adjusting to the luxury and fumbling through his memories of before. There was things he was remembering now that he was back in this room, in this dream. He was surprised he had forgotten in the first place.

“We had fun last time didn’t we Greenie? You’re _insane_.” They had drank _so much_ , Genji’s friends had only goaded them on worse, and it had all been on the house. He couldn’t even remember which of them gave up first, but he’s sure there had been a bet involved. It had been a good end to their day of fun. “Are we going out again? Do you have a plan in mind?”

Greenie looks conflicted, grin dropping for a second only to be picked back up immediately like nothing was wrong.

“Uh, yeah, sure! But, I mean, Anija wrote that for you to read first.” He points at the black leather-bound journal lying atop the dresser. “But I’m sure it’s all just boring stuff. He probably just wants you to stay in this room all day.”

McCree pulls a face, but gets up and takes the journal. He’d be bored out of his mind if he stayed in here all day. Baths, lying around, and touching himself could only entertain for so long. Absently, he runs a hand through his hair while the other flipped open the book, Greenie stepping behind him to peek over his shoulder at the pages.

The writing is neat, tiny, and followed the lines. Thankfully, it’s not handwritten. Jesse had trouble reading most handwriting, unless it was his own. Many commented that his penmanship was sloppy and unrefined. He said it had _character._

  


_Since we have not formally introduced ourselves to each other, I will start the honours. My name is Shimada Hanzo, and you are Jesse McCree, correct? At least, that’s what Genji referred to you as. It was hard to remember much from your side of the swap when I woke up today. (Yesterday, if you’re reading this now.)_

_Since you have a notebook I felt it suiting to start one as well. Hanamura is not a playground for you. It is not for you and Genji to goof off every day. You will get me into trouble (and that’s saying it lightly) if you continue to act in such an immature manner. I am in a position of great responsibility in my household and you need to act that way when you are controlling my personage._

_If you can, stay inside all day. Fake sick. Don’t leave my room if possible. The less people who see you, the better._

_I know you can’t speak Japanese, so opt to speak as little as possible. The less English the better. I have instructed Genji to help you, but he will likely try to convince you to goof off. Do not listen to him._

‘Do not’ is underlined multiple times with the thick pencil lead, as If Hanzo thought him stupid and needed it emphasised.

_We cannot have a repeat of last swap, where you were out acting the fool all around town. Speaking of which, dress properly. The other day was disgraceful._

After this, there are hand-drawn sketches of the proper clothing and what he should wear in various situations, including during exercise, lounging around the house, or when meeting other people. They were pretty good drawings, McCree was certain he could figure out what to do from this. It even gave numbered steps with instructions for layering certain outfits and tying the sashes. 

_If you get called in to talk with my family, just sit quietly and nod. Bring Genji with you if you can. Hopefully it will not come to that. We need to figure out why this is happening and stop it as soon as possible._

_Don’t do anything stupid. I will try to contact you and Genji during the swap. Stay tuned._

_\- Hanzo._

  


“Wow, he is boring.” McCree states. Genji laughs and does a full body roll backwards to flop onto the bed.

“Called it. Anija has a big stick up his ass.”

“Sounds lame.”

Greenie shrugs. “He wasn’t always like that.”

“Well…”

“Well what?” Genji looks back over.

McCree waves the journal at him. He would’ve thought that the question was self-explanatory. For a fake person, Hanzo sure had a ton of restrictions.

“Well are we doing what he says or…? I mean, this is just my imagination, so how much trouble could he get into?”

“What?” Genji is off his back and sitting straight in a flash. “Jesse, you can’t be serious. I thought you were joking last time, but…”

“Pardon?” He drawls.

Greenie makes an exasperated sound and jumps back onto his feet, then takes the journal from McCree’s hand and smacks him over the head with it. McCree grunts and ducks away from the second attempted smack.

“The hell was that for?”

Greenie rolls his grey eyes and lowers the journal. “For being an idiot.”

“I don’t see how.” McCree grumbles back, sullen. “Either this is all a dream, or magic exists. And life sure as hell ain’t no fairy-tale, so this can’t be really happening.”

The journal is placed back on the dresser before Greenie replies, over the shoulder;

“There is more magic in this world than you think, Jesse McCree.”

Jesse swears he can see the intimidating glint of green scales on the teen’s neck. He must have a tattoo as well. Could be a sort of friendship pact or a weird family thing, he wasn’t all too sure. But, seeing the many instances of dragon themed décor about the home, his guess was leaning towards a weird family dragon-based cult. 

“You’re sayin’ that right now, your brother is running around in my body?”

“Duh.”

McCree laughs and shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous. How do you expect me to believe that?”

“Well, I can’t prove it. Not yet.” Genji sucks at his cheek, then fumbles in his pocket to pull out a phone, shiny and sleek and ninety-five percent glass. If McCree had one for himself it’d be cracked in less than a minute. The teen unlocks it, glances at his home screen and in a second has it powered off and slid back into some pocket in his robe. “But you should know yourself. Weren’t things strange yesterday when you woke up at home?”

That had him thinking. It was easier to recall everything here in retrospect, with Greenback prompting him and his mind free of alcoholic influence.

Things at home _had_ been different. Jefe had been acting weird, and it had been alarming to wake up in the infirmary to say the least. He had attributed it to getting injured during their mission and losing memory of the incident due to the pain meds, but everyone else’s accounts and comments disproved that theory very fast. 

But magic bullshit? There was _no way_.

Greenie seemed to read the disbelief on his face, because he groaned, exasperated, and went to grab the journal again. McCree dives at him to wrestle it out of his hands.

“No - Greenie!”

“Fine! Fine!” He drops the journal and sighs, palms raised in defeat. “It’s your decision to believe it or not. But hurry up on that, because we have things to do today.”

“Things? Like what?” He perks up at that, quickly losing interest in the journal. “Are we getting smashed again?”

Genji pauses, considering it.

“I was going to say no, but it really is tempting, isn’t it?” He laughs. “Maybe later. You slept in today, but it’s still before lunch. So we can make it to a few training sessions. I was going to vote for skipping them today, but since you’re here I’m thinking it might be fun to join for once.”

“Training? Alright. Can’t be any harder than back at the base.”

“I believe in you.” Genji grins and goes to the walk-in closet, stepping inside and returning with several pieces of clothing. He throws them and they smack McCree in the face before he can catch them.

“Anija gave you instructions, right? I’m sure you’ll be fine. I’ll tell you if you do it wrong.” He grins coyly and skips out of the room.

McCree didn’t believe him for a second, but honestly he didn’t have much of a choice. With the journal and its drawings opened and spread on the bed, he opened the folded pieces of clothing and tried to find its matching illustration.

Hanzo’s instructions are detailed and precise. He layers the upper parts respectively - some kind of undershirt and an over-shirt with long sleeves. Then something called a _Hakama_ \- Which to McCree just looked like wide rapper pants - was to be pulled up over it and tied high on his waist. The tie was also detailed, but it seemed overly unnecessary, so he settled for double knotting it and tucking it in to the upper part (called an _kyudo-gi_ , apparently, whatever that was) and attempting to straighten the garment properly.

“You done yet?” Greenie’s voice floats back over from the other side of the door.

“Yeah. I think.” He replies. He grabs the journal and examines himself in the mirror, comparing the sketch to his current appearance. It was close enough. Good enough for whatever Genji had planned, surely. He takes the comb from the dresser and runs it through his hair many times, sighing happily at the feeling of silky smoothness, but hissing when he hit a stray knot.

Genji walks back in as soon as he’s tying the neatened hair into a ponytail. He tilts his head to the side and clucks his tongue.

“What?” McCree is annoyed with the treatment. This day was already turning out more involved than he’d like.

“It’s nothing. You look great. Anija’s instructions must have been good.” There’s humour in his voice as he turns away quickly and waves towards the door. “You want breakfast?”

He never realised how hungry he was until Greenie had mentioned it. His stomach felt like an empty pit.

“Yes please.”

“I hope you’re not picky.”

\--  


They sat on the floor. _The floor_. He thought a rich place like this would at least have chairs. There’s tiny pillows, but it’s still the floor and with no back support McCree ends up slumping over his food like some kind of Neanderthal. _If Ms.Amari were here she’d whoop me five ways to Sunday to get me to straighten my posture_ , he thinks, but Genji didn’t seem to care and none of the people bringing them food said anything, so he left it be.

Genji lifts up a bowl and slurps loudly at the soup inside.

“Here’s the thing,” He says before slurping again, chewing and swallowing. “We’ve already missed morning mediation, but we can do it at the end. Besides that, we’ve got to meet up with Kenichi-Ojisan for swordsmanship, and Kimiko-Okasan for ranged practise.”

“Who?” McCree cautiously poked at his breakfast. It looked well made, but he’d never had half of the stuff on it before. Sushi he could handle, ramen he could handle, but soup and a weird paste and something that looked like pickled fish was not what he had signed up for. He picks at the bowl of rice instead - it was something he recognised at least - but sloppily dropped clumps with his chopsticks.

“Our paternal Uncle and our youngest Aunt by marriage.” Genji replies.

McCree tries the green tea and screws up his face. Bitter. “They married?”

“Nah, Kenichi-Ojisan’s wife is named Ichika.”

“Hm.” He drops another clump of rice on its way to his mouth and scowls at the grains now wasted on his lap. It would be better to pick up the bowl and use his fingers instead of the chopsticks.

Genji laughs and takes pity, taking the tiny sugar spoon from the tea tray and passes it to McCree.

“Just use it. You’re making me suffer here by just watching you.”

He takes the spoon only slightly begrudgingly, and shoves three spoonfuls into his mouth immediately while swallowing with minimal chewing. He was so hungry. “Why don’t y’all use spoons? There’s nothing wrong with spoons!”

“Why don’t y’all use chopsticks?” Genji parrots mockingly back. The faked, exaggerated southern accent sounded hilarious on his tongue but McCree had to concede that the teen had a point.

The rice sadly gone, McCree decides to take a risk on the soup, and lifts it to his mouth like Greenie had done. He puts the bowl to his lips, then lowers it and asks;

“So, why are we training again? Some sort of competition or…?” Then he takes a long dreg of the soup, swallowing it down fast. He didn’t care to notice the taste now, he just needed to feel full. Perhaps he could convince Greenie to bring him back to that ramen place later. “I mean, this all sounds like secret cult ninja stuff to me.” He jokes.

Rather than deny or laugh at his statement, Genji just shrugs and takes a sip of his tea. “I mean, I guess you can call it that. You’re not wrong.”

McCree nearly chokes on his soup. He coughs, lowering the bowl and pounding at his chest. “W-what? Say that again now?”

“We can do all sorts of ninja stuff. How do you think I climbed up that gate the other night?”

“I was drunk! I thought maybe you had suction cups, or glue, or that I had just imagined it - “

“No, it happened. I guess you could say our family…” Genji’s face screws up. “…keeps tradition alive. We’ve been living like this for generations. It’s kind of cool though.” He brightens. “I can do all kinds of cool stunts at parties.” 

“Always a plus.”

“Mhm.” Genji gulps down the rest of his tea and jumps from kneeling to his feet. “I hope you’re ready ‘cause we gotta go now if we don’t wanna be late.”

“But - “ McCree hopelessly gestures to his spread and how barely even half of it was eaten. Genji waves at him dismissively. 

“It’s fine, leave it, somebody will come clean it up.” Genji stretches and is waiting at the door. “Come on, what are you waiting for?”

“Fine.”

He follows after the younger teen as he navigates through doorway after doorway until they’re in the dojo, him standing awkwardly on the slightly spongy floors while Genji goes and fetches him equipment.

“Don’t worry,” Greenie says, passing him a sword, sheath first. “You’ll do fine.”

  
\- 

Training had been a _disaster._

He hadn’t expected it to go well, not with his zero experience on that type of fighting. Jefe would never be so cool as to let him train with swords, but, he doubted it’d come into much use anyway - swords were a close range sort of deal, and he had not met a bastion unit yet that didn’t shoot first from practically a mile away at the first hint of warm-blooded movement. Greenie though had been encouraging, and he had thought it boded well for him.

First of all, he couldn’t understand anything his ‘Uncle’ said, and so had to sit quietly while Genji snickered behind him, occasionally answering in Japanese. Eventually even his family had given up on him, and after many stern looks and a sort of confused disappointment, they had both been dismissed while the elder man rubbed at his temples in perplexed frustration.

After walking out of the dojo appropriately shamefaced, Genji started leading him over to the courtyard, ducking out under a bridged part of the pavilion to reveal a lane of targets neatly arranged at different heights back on to a large stone wall.

“It’s a nice day, so we’re going to be outside. When Okasan gets here she’ll evaluate our progress. Nothing too strict though.”

“Like get us to do what?” The embarrassment of earlier stuck with him. He didn’t want a repeat performance of his failures.

“Easy stuff. You know. Like throw five knives to the centre of a target in three seconds. Try to get bull’s eyes. Easy. You said you had good aim, right?”

“With a _gun_. Give me any pistol, revolver, luger - “ 

“Shotgun?” Genji asks, suddenly eager. It was the American stereotype after-all.

McCree winces.

“No.” That was Jefe’s forte. The kickback always hurt like a bitch. Gabriel and Jack had said he needed more upper muscle first. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t built out of titanium.

“Sniper then?”

“Nope. My aim’s not _that_ good. Ain’t got the patience fer it anyhow.”

“Well, revolvers are cool enough, I guess.” Genji says nonchalantly, and McCree snorts.

“What, I’m not good enough for you?” If Genji was asking so many questions, then it must be that there were guns here. “Get me a revolver and I can prove I’m not just talk.” He winks. 

Rather than laughter and a quick assent, Greenie’s smile went stiff as he said;

“I dunno about that, Jesse.”

McCree faltered a little, confused. Genji had always been more than accommodating earlier.

“You gotta have ‘em here.” He argues, “You have a literal storage room filled with swords - “

_“Katanas_ \- “ Genji corrected.

“ - And enough old age weaponry to fill a museum.”

“ - _Four_ museums.”

“Whatever, my point is that I don’t see why I can’t -”

“We’re not doing gun training today. And I’ve grown to enjoy watching you fumble with our weapons. Why would I ruin that?” Genji laughs but it still seems a bit stressed. What could he possibly be worried about? Was he afraid of being beaten at a skill or had the body he was currently inhabiting been a bad shot? Maybe Hanzo suddenly having good aim was too suspicious - he didn’t want to be accused of cheating.

“Fine.” He assents. It was too much trouble to hassle Genji anyway. He’s sure they’d get around to it eventually. Genji’s easy smile returned.

“I’ll go get the shuriken.”

  
\--

Throwing practise hadn’t been as bad as swords, but it still had been pretty rough. The learning curve was manageable, and of that he was thankful.

The language barrier was still a problem though. He was quickly getting tired of having to sit, smile awkwardly and nod whenever people spoke to him. Especially since he wasn’t used to being so out of the loop. The diversity of their strike team ensured that there was a bit of language confusion when people were prone to reflexively replying in their native tongue. Everyone grew to be used to it, and over time picked up enough casual words from each other to make such basic exchanges mutually understandable.

Normally him and Jefe enjoyed the anonymity of being able to shit talk in Spanish, and they lorded it over Jack as much as possible. He didn’t much like being on the other side of this huge inside joke.

Now it felt like all of Japan was in some club he wasn’t a part of. Asking Greenie to teach him random words seemed like an optimal choice and during throwing practise the teen had happily riddled off basic words and tips, but he seemed so awfully amused the whole time, and McCree had a feeling some of the things he was being taught were not entirely true.

When their aunt showed up things got more serious. He didn’t fail quite as bad as at swordsmanship, and he could sense Genji’s approval. She spoke little to either of them, but her aim was impeccable and somehow her expectations were clear.

_What was with middle aged women and having good aim?_

An hour and a few bows later and their aunt dismissed them and left, leaving both boys standing in the sunlight with more time than they knew what to do with.

“What now?” Genji hopped about from foot to foot, acting a lot like Fareeha whenever she was getting excited over some kind of anticipated treat. Little siblings, the same no matter where you go. 

“You call the shots Greenback. I have no idea what to do around here.”

Genji grins like he’d been waiting all day for that answer. And perhaps he had been. McCree immediately feels like he made a mistake.

“We can go back out on the town. I’ll show you something more fun than last time. No alcohol though.” Genji promises, running his hands through his sweaty hair. “But first we should shower.” He pauses, then snorts. “Not together.”

“Hah. I’ve no problem with that, Greenback. What sort of clothes should I wear for this evening you have planned?”

Greenie pulls out his phone, checks it, frowns briefly and puts it away. After which he became a lot less excited.

“I don’t know, consult Anija’s journal and find out. I’d say dress like you’re a normal guy going out on the town. You worry too much, honestly.”

“Your brother chewed me out for wearing jeans the other day.”

Genji laughs and shakes his head. 

“Yeah that sounds like him. Don’t worry, I’m going to be wearing jeans. Wearing traditional stuff will just draw attention to ourselves.”

“…Are we trying to avoid that?” He’d like to know if they have to worry about some kind of assassination attempt or if it was just paparazzi they were trying to avoid. 

Greenie pauses, then shrugs.

“Probably?”

McCree chuckles.

“I’m good at avoiding attention.”

Genji grinned wider. “Excellent.”

They walked together back into their house - mansion? Castle? McCree still had no clue what to call it - and up the stairs. On the second landing they’re stopped by a maid who bows deep and says something quick and quiet while standing in front of him. Greenie nods curtly and dismisses her, and then turns to him and says; “The _honorable_ elders wish to speak with you.” He sounds and looks spiteful, yet darkly amused, and that in itself is enough to worry McCree.

“What do I do? Can I ignore it?” He asks.

“Hah! Not if you want to get brother in even more hot water. “

“Well?? I can’t speak Japanese, Greenie. What do you expect me to accomplish?”

“I dunno. How do you expect me to know?” Genji says spitefully. His tone could curdle milk.

“Greenie!” McCree snaps.

“Just go in, kneel at an empty spot, and nod at whatever they tell you. I assume they mostly talk at you. If it seems they want a reply, say _hai_.”

This didn’t sound like a good plan.

“Can’t you come with me?” He really didn’t want to piss off Hanzo more than last time. The guy seems a bit of an asshole but _also_ he was hot. 

“No.” Greenback looked away. “I haven’t been in one of those meetings for years. They’re far too boring. Besides, they wouldn’t allow me there anyway.”

“Greenback - “

“Just… go.” He was smiling, but it was anything but happy. “I’ll tell the help to bring you.”

He shouts out and a different maid is at their side in seconds. She too bows low enough to almost kiss the knees and he waves them both away.

“Genji - “ McCree tries to argue, but the younger is already walking back up the stairs.

“You’ll be fine.”

  
\--

It… McCree wasn’t exactly sure how he should judge it. There were only four adults in the room - three men and a woman - dressed impeccably, no hair out of place. He knelt at a cushion and waited for them to address him.

They spoke to him. The older man with the sharp beard stared first, looking at him with eyes that burnt like cold fire. He spoke softly, but McCree had the feeling that his words were anything but.

There was a pause.

_Hai_ , he replies. The man nods, satisfied, and the man next to him speaks. His hair is long and still without grey. He and the woman next to him speak in tandem, and after they finish their lot he nods and again repeats the single syllable word.

_Hai._

The final man takes longer, and he seems to be covering a lot of important points that McCree really wished he understood. But for now he could only pretend to follow along, try not to actually space out, and nod at appropriate moments.

When the third man’s done his piece McCree says his part again, and when the four adults smile at him he feels like he’s signed some sort of deal with a devil in four parts. 

He leaves the room with an uneasy feeling, and gets lost twice on his way back to his bedroom. Showering and changing takes a half hour, and he waits for Genji to find him.

Genji eventually does knock and enter through his door, and he’s dressed in tight black jeans and a dark dress shirt.

“You ready?” He asks, but he doesn’t seem into it. His eyes are dull and his voice is flat, even while his hair was impeccably styled and his clothes made him look like a runway model. 

McCree suddenly feels woefully inadequate with his simple straight hair and jeans plus shirt and blazer set up. Genji’s outfit screams _night on the town_ , while his just says _business casual._

“Yeah. Did you decide where we were going?” He asks.

“Drinking.” Genji replies and his voice brokered no argument. 

“Okay. Yeah. Sure.” McCree wasn’t going to say anything. He was not going to say that Hanzo specifically requested they didn’t drink, he was not saying that it seemed a little too early in the afternoon to be drinking, he was _especially_ not mentioning that the meeting with the elders gave him a bad gut feeling, _(one that had never failed him before,_ ) and not that he was starting to feel that this whole swapping thing was getting a little over his head. He wasn’t going to say any of it while Genji seemed so _lost._

Genji sighs, and starts walking.

“Glad you agree.”

\--

This trip out was different than the last one. They left the almost enclosed hilltop part of the city that he had begun to recognise as _theirs_ and the mood entirely changed. Genji was a man on a mission and walked with purpose and a grim face.

They _still_ didn’t get ID’d, a fact that still surprised him, and the bars were practically empty at this time so McCree sat back and watched Genji down shot after shot.

After they left the bar Genji’s mood was lighter and he got friendly, leading McCree around the streets babbling half in Japanese and sometimes in English, pointing out shops and restaurants and good bars.

Street food was what McCree was interested in, and a few strange looking pastries later he was feeling a lot more invested in the cultural immersion, though almost all of it was lost on him.

They got quite the bit of attention, and of course they did; two beautiful men dressed well out in public. People flocked to Genji like moths to flame, and he welcomed them all. 

But McCree, alcohol free and very much alert and suspicious started to notice the people on the fringes, the ones trying to look like they _weren’t_ looking. These were the type of people he’d seen many times before, the ones trying to hide their intentions but it still shone through in their eyes. These were the type of people that bought you a drink and laughed at your jokes before pulling a gun to your head.

As the evening slipped into night, it felt like the hostile presence was growing. McCree declined every drink Genji offered to him in lieu of keeping his wits about him. They switched bars often, but he felt like he kept seeing the same handful of people no matter how many times he prompted Genji to change their locale. Finally he couldn’t take it anymore and dragged Genji off the dancefloor to bring them back home.

He’s secretly proud that he manages to get them back home without getting too lost, and Genji seems to sober up the closer they get to home. By the time Jesse gets him to bed he’s quiet and no longer smiling.

“He didn’t even call.” Genji was mumbling while pulling back the covers of his absurdly large bed, “he promised he would, and he didn’t. I waited all day.”

“A date?” Jesse asked.

“No, no - I don’t know why I believed him…” Genji trailed off and then said nothing else on the matter, closing his eyes and turning to face the other way in his bed. “Go home, Jesse.”

  


McCree left him like that, going back to his room and feeling very much so like he was over his head.


	7. McCree IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree tries to be a ninja, fails, and eventually decides to broaden his mind through language learning. Meanwhile, Gabe tries his hand at free-range parenting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO everyone! It's been a few months!!!! How was your summers? I hope the new school year is treating you guys well!
> 
> First things first, I am so sorry that it's been this long! Between work hours, actually playing overwatch (I got to plat! Finally! YAY!) and trying to get more physically fit (RIP, still not there yet) I didn't put aside much time to writing. I also accidentally left the plot binder with all my plans and notes in storage when I left uni for break, so having no access to it for a few months made me less motivated to write ('lest I accidentally fuck up even more than usual, haha).
> 
> But I promised I would finish this if it killed me (and it very well might) and I wrote this entire chapter in two days. So, I'm gonna work hard to hopefully be more regular for you guys! This chapter might be a bit rusty, since I edit and proofread it all on my own, but I'll remember wtf I was doing eventually ~
> 
> Thank you all again, your love really encourages me to keep writing~ I don't deserve any of youuuuu *sinks into void*

\----------------------------------------  
  


At least this time, McCree didn’t wake up in the medical ward. 

He wakes in his own bed, on his back with his hands neatly folded together, resting on top of the blankets. Hanzo even sleeps like a tight-ass. This was amusing, but not surprising.

Jesse slips out of his bed to turn off his alarm, stretches, and slides open his bedside drawer. The notebook was still there. Sighing, he grabs it and flicks it to the most recent pages, searching for any messages from his body-swap partner.

Of course, he finds the neat printing and winces at the length. Hanzo was practically writing a novel - between this note and the one from the previous swap a few days ago, half the notebook was already gone. He was going to have to find a new place for them to write their letters to each other, perhaps something more private. He didn’t like the idea of Fareeha possibly coming in to rummage through his stuff, finding it, and reading it through like it was a diary or something. 

A glance at the clock showed he still had time to read it through. He flicked on the side lamp and squinted at the small writing.

_Good morning once again. You don’t need to be so defensive - I assure you this isn’t a prank, I am here playing the part as best as I am able. Things seem to be going very well, despite your note not being any help, so you should be thankful. I would like a better explanation as to who everyone in this building is, and what all your purpose here is. You have my brother as a trusted source of information - I do not have such a resource here, unless you believe there is someone here that would not immediately have me (/you) sent to a psychiatrist for saying such an outlandish thing as “I’m currently swapping bodies every few days with a complete stranger.”_

That was… unlikely. Jesse trusted everyone at the base with his life - obviously - but when it came to trying to get them to believe in the supernatural… they would be hard to convince. He was still having trouble believing all of this himself, and he was living it. His first instinct would be to tell Gabriel, but he could see the commander now; the look of disbelief, turning to amusement, maybe ending with a smack to the ears and a gruff _stop fucking around kid._

Reinhardt always loved a good legend or tall tale, but he wouldn’t truly believe him. Angela was way too logical and rooted in science to believe such a thing, and if he confided his secret to her there’d be nothing to expect besides lots of interviews and intrusive physical tests. Still, it might not hurt to go check it out. She could have some kind of science-y device that could help.

Torbjörn is a blabber mouth, so he was automatically out, while Jack wouldn’t really care or take him seriously in the first place. Jesse scowled. Jack would be the least likely out of everyone to believe him.

Fareeha was young, she probably wouldn’t be able to keep a secret for too long. But she was a contender, and would be able to at least help out Hanzo on swap days. Maybe. As for her mother….

Ana was a vaguely superstitious lady. Her tattoos showed that immediately, not to mention her elaborate knowledge of myths and stories from her own culture. But like Angela, she was founded in practicality, and though war makes everyone superstitious to a point, he wasn’t sure if it’d be enough for her to believe him immediately and not just call bullshit. Despite all this, she was the most appealing option.

Would she even be able to help? What would help for this even _include?_ To his knowledge the swaps appeared to have started at random, and their physical health wasn’t being affected. Mentally he always felt the same too during the swap and after returning. Besides the anxiety of being possibly found out, everything felt pretty normal. Ignoring whether or not the team believed his claims, the fact remained that they were in the middle of a war, running and preparing for highly classified missions attempting to free the world from omnic subjugation. He was pretty sure they didn’t have time to deal with this swap bullshit, especially not if it would involve lengthy research to turn off the whole process.

Jesse guesses he should be thankful his body-buddy was at least a skilled assassin. Or some kind of cult leader? It wasn’t really all that clear. Hanzo was probably both of those things. This was stuff he should ask Genji next time he got the chance. Either way, it ensured that Hanzo was combat-adept enough to probably not get him grievously injured or killed if they swapped during an inopportune time, such as before a giant mech fight, or something. 

Hanzo’s note continues;

_I completed various training exercises today with the man Gabriel. They were laughably easy, and my performance was exemplary. Gabriel was very impressed - so you’re welcome. Robots are never good enough substitutes for training with a real human being. If you want proper combat practise, I’d recommend fighting with each other, and getting better technology for when doing stealth simulations. I could complete harder tasks as a twelve year old._

_Your dwarf engineer seemed to imply that there was only one phone on base, and that it is in possession of Gabriel. Not to mention there is no internet here. I wanted to get in contact with Genji - and by extension, you - but because of these shortcomings I was unable to do so. I would appreciate it if something could be arranged for me before the next swap happens._

That was…. Not going to happen by any stretch of the imagination. Whenever they sent an outgoing signal there was a risk of it being tracked and their location being revealed to any hostile presences in the area. The UQT-5s had surprisingly high sensitivity to radio waves, and he’d been lectured more than once on the topic. There was a reason Torbjorn had to get creative with copper wire in various places throughout the base, and why all his porn was downloaded from over a year ago, from a time when attacks were small, isolated incidents, rather then the global scale they are now.

_Also, your tablet was not nearly well enough hidden, and having only the fingerprint scan isn’t secure enough. I would recommend at least putting on a passcode if you don’t want just anyone to have access to it._

McCree felt his ears start to heat up. He found the tablet? And of course he could unlock it because the only method of unlock was the fingerprint scanner. He had definitely seen his… collection, then. Hanzo seemed an uptight guy - McCree was surprised more shade wasn’t being thrown his way about his… open tastes, so to speak. 

He rereads the paragraph again and scoffed as his embarrassment turns to annoyance.

Just _anyone_?? He glared down at the paper. Not _everybody_ was body swapping with him and gaining access to his body - and therefore - his tablet.

What an asshat.

He starts writing his reply until there’s a loud banging on his door followed by a bellow from Torbjörn asking him if he’s awake yet. Jesse jumps to his feet and shoves the notebook back into his drawer. He’d have to finish writing his reply later.

  
\----

McCree couldn’t put his finger on it, but something seems a little off. When he enters the briefing room the rest of their team stop their conversations and stare at him, and he can’t help but feel a little awkward.

“Uh, is everything okay?” He asks.

Gabriel abruptly stands, but Ana put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Of course!” She says kindly, “Please come sit.”

McCree walks to his seat feeling hot under their stares. _What had Hanzo done_? He claimed that the day had gone perfectly, but clearly things had not if everyone was looking at him like he had two heads.

A cup of coffee was placed in front of him by Angela. He adds sugar to it and starts sipping at it to try to disperse the tension.

Jack clears his throat.

“Today we’re going to run more simulations for practising stealth against recon bots. Torbjörn generously worked all night to upgrade what we had - “

Jack pauses and at his acknowledgement, the engineer does a mock salute with his coffee cup and then chugs the rest of the hot liquid down before pouring himself another full cup. Angela to the left of him looks like she sympathises with his coffee addiction.

“ - and now they have combat procedures programmed in. Soon we’ll have to start thinking about guerilla tactics. We make plans now, but it’s almost guaranteed that something will go wrong, even if we prepare to the nines.”

“Murphy’s law.” Ana said sagely.

“This is why we need to be prepared for everything.” Gabriel says calmly. “Our current plan of infiltration is to go by drop-ship, but that will only work if their anti-aircraft guns are shut down. And _they_ can only be put out of commission if we destroy not only the guns, but also the methods they use to repair them. Unfortunately, as you all know, our combat aircraft got damaged during our last op and we’re still waiting on supplies to repair it. Once we do get our shipment, it will still take a few months for Torbjörn to fix everything.”

Torbjörn rolls his eyes. “Yer all lucky that I am such a talented jack of all trades!” 

Angela patted his shoulder. 

“We wouldn’t know what we’d do without you, Dr. Lindholm.” She says placatingly. The Swede puffs out his chest.

“And don’t you forget it neither! I’ll be working overtime t’get everythin’ ready by March!”

“Speaking of which, it is worth noting that we received a transmission from Liao this morning.” Ana says, and everyone at the table brightens considerably. “He’s safe, no broken bones or festering infections this time.” She winks at Angela who puts a hand over her chest and sighs with relief.

“He knows it’s risky to send electronic contact right now.” Jack says, but he’s smiling and sounds more fond than anything else. Nobody could be upset at the risky antics of their comrade-in-arms. 

Reinhardt grins and smacks a hand on the table, which shook under the giant’s force.

“What did that crazy bastard do this time?” He bellows. “He was supposed to go attempt to re-establish contact with our friends in the north, yes? Nice and Sneaky-like?”

“Key word being _supposed_ to.” Gabe said, sounding exasperated, but like the others, more amused than upset. “He got cut off in Ukraine, and ended up getting re-routed more south-east.”

“How _much _farther south-east?” Reinhardt asks.__

____

“Well, as of this morning, he’s in India.” Ana replies.

“India!?!” The table exclaims, and reactions ranged from a face palm from Angela to McCree whistling in bewilderment. It was honestly impressive.

“How on earth did he manage that?” McCree asks. Liao was a bit of a free spirit to be sure, and so in the prep time between strikes he’d be advocating for solo runs of reconnaissance. He was more than capable of doing so of course, being specialised in solo-ops, but it was still worrying to have him disappear for long stretches with hardly any contact. With Europe being such a hotbed of hostile omnic presence at the moment, it was risky to keep up traceable, stable contact with anyone out in the field.

Gabriel continues speaking.

“India is in the middle of their clean up right now, and they discovered a new automated factory churning out the damn bots the other week. In all the chaos, Liao was lucky enough to meet up with some old contact, and they suggested some improvements to our weapons that they found helpful in fighting against the OR-14 units. The file has been uploaded onto our secure server for you to view at your convenience.” The last sentence was directed at the Swede.

“Fine, I’ll take a look at t’blueprints since Liao took t’effort to send ‘em.” Torbjörn paused, bushy eyebrows furrowing. “But I won’t like it! If the ‘ _contact_ ’ Liao was talking to is Jindal, I reserve t’right to ignore his suggestions. He and I have always had different ideas on weapon efficiency.”

“That’s fine, so long as you at least give his ideas a look.” Jack waves his hand dismissively. “That’s all for new information. Anyone have any questions?”

Everybody shrugged apathetically. Nothing really had changed when it came to their personal schedule.

“Alright. Get to work.” Gabriel claps as a dismissal and everyone scatters. McCree doesn’t get farther than the doorway before Ana whistles at him and gestures for him to follow her. Giving her a weak salute, he slips on his hat and follows the woman out to the firing range.

  
-

They get through two rounds each before Ana, between reloads, adjusts her hijab and asks;

“How are you doing, Jesse? You’ve been acting unusual lately. Is something on your mind?”

He groans as he slams a new cartridge into the gun’s chambers.

They line up their shots at the marked target.

“I’m doing fine, ma’am. “ He replies easily, even under Ana’s prime scrutiny. He thinks of long, silky black hair and a muscular chest and his finger slips on the hammer. His shot hits pitifully off-centre. Ana chuckles besides him.

“Uh huh.” Something’s on your mind, Jesse. A woman knows.” She taps at his arm. “And loosen your wrist - make sure you lead with your eyes.”

He nods and shoots again. It landed slightly too high, but an improvement over the last shot.

“I’m just… thinking about the next God AI.” He _was_ nervous about that, and what it would mean for their small strike team. So it wasn’t a complete lie. “I’ll be a part of this one.”

Ana shoots at her target without a scope. She hits dead centre and hums. “Yes, it seems too soon, doesn’t it? I still have nightmares about the last one, and those walls closing in on us.” She taps her fingers on her sniper rifle. “All the same, I have confidence in our group. We are the only people who can accomplish this, and we’ll be prepared, and we’re not going in blind this time.”

“I suppose.”

Every day that they prepared and trained, the more people that would be killed or captured. Though at this point in the game, many places were at a standstill or more accurately, a stalemate, with the majority of resources from every country ( _namely, soldiers, supplies and money_ ) going towards maintaining at _least_ the neutral point in the tug-of-war. 

The robots knew that they could wait humans out in most situations, especially in the cases where they had entire towns or cities cut off from food, water, electricity and outside contact. So far, the majority of the crisis had been more like a game of chess, but if the chess board was three dimensional, the enemy pieces were equipped with deadly lasers, and the enemy king piece could infinitely create as many other pieces as it wanted.

Now that he thought about it, it wasn’t like a game of chess at all.

“How is Asia doing in all this?” McCree asks suddenly. He shoots and gets a bullseye. He whoops. Ana takes her shot and gets her bullet through the hole his bullet had made.

“Thinking of Liao?” Ana smiles. “It sounds like things are under control where he is, but he’s street smart enough that he’d be able to play it safe if anything changes. China was having a rough time last we heard.” She pulls the bolt on her rifle and ejects the casing. “They have a high population spread and their God AI took advantage of that. A lot of people in rural areas are in hiding rather than attempting to make a front line. But the bigger cities took to resistance very quickly.”

“What about the other countries?” He hadn’t really asked much about world affairs before, tending to space out whenever Gabriel covered that part of their weekly updates. It hadn’t really concerned him before; why should it? He had no family or friends to worry about - everyone that he cared about the wellbeing of were at the base with him. 

Ana looks at him with interest, eyes searching him for some kind of reaction. “The UN doesn’t often give us an abundance of information, fractured as it is right now, unless it’s relevant to the location of the omniums. Korea I recall mobilised as well as they could and currently is focusing all their manpower on keeping their border on lockdown. They’re cautious of another dive strategy after the ravaging of their three biggest cities.”

“What about Japan?” Jesse vaguely recalled through foggy swap memories that Hanzo had a large property, and he seemed to have a lot of money to pay for protection and such. Perhaps he was in such an isolated pocket that life could continue on as normal where-ever he was. 

“Japan?” She raised an eyebrow. “Why are you so curious all of a sudden?”

McCree shrugged and attempted to look casual. After watching him a moment longer, Ana returned her attention to lining up her next shot and continued.

“Well, Japan, Taiwan too, and the Philippines.” She lists the three countries on her fingers. “Small island countries were the first to lose contact with the rest of the world, since they have no easy means of contact once the internet and phone lines started getting messed with. But it also meant that they were somewhat neglected. None of those places have omniums of their own. The biggest threat would be infected AI’s going rogue, unless the bastion units start boarding ships or something.” She smiles, amused at the idea, and shoots another bullseye. “It’s likely being settled domestically.”

“You don’t know for sure?”

“If we haven’t been told about it, they should be doing okay. Do you know someone there?”

That was a loaded question if he ever heard one. Ana was sounding way too nonchalant. He shakes his head, dismissing the unspoken question of; _are you worried?_

“Just getting an idea of how far this goes.” He replies. “I was hoping we’d have an excuse to visit there, I’ve heard it’s nice this time of year.” Ana hums again and finishes her clip.

There was no need to be worried.

Hanzo was skilled in combat and self-defense, and so (it seemed) was his whole family. If there was any one person who could survive a rogue omnic attack, it’d probably be him. He was worrying for no reason. If his suspicions were right and the rich brothers were simply living in sheltered safety, there would be no reason to scare them with stories of the state of the rest of the world. Alternatively, it occurs to him that perhaps they knew this whole time, and just lived well because they _could_.

Now that he knew that his experiences weren’t just dreams, _that_ particular thought pissed him off. 

His next shot missed the target completely. He spots Ana looking at him from the corner of his eye but she doesn’t say anything. He’s glad, because he wouldn’t know how to explain his mixed feelings anyway. He was relieved that they weren’t in danger, but angry at the idea of such unfair fortune. 

  
-

They practise until Ana finally dismisses him, praising his improvement, and he heads back to his room to brood alone. 

He paces while thinking of how to reply to Hanzo in the journal, and then eventually finds himself sitting on his bed, bouncing lightly on the mattress while spinning the gun in one hand. Something didn’t feel right to him, and he wasn’t sure what. He loaded and unloaded the revolver multiple times, trying to complete the task as quickly as possible. After placing it back onto the mattress and spending two minutes struggling to tie his just-long-enough hair into a tiny ponytail, he thumbs through his bedside drawer, ignoring the clear disturbances of his things since he knew that Hanzo had probably been rifling through it multiple times already by this point.

His cigar is still there, rolled to the back of the drawer. He yearned to smoke it, but he’d get an earful of yelling from Jefe and Ana and a long, pointless lecture from Angela if they smelt it on him, not to mention Fareeha would probably complain about him smelling bad for days, even after the cigar smoke had long since been covered up by laundry sheets, soap and shampoo.

It wasn’t worth it, not right now.

He rifles a bit deeper and pulls out cigar box hiding below a few odd pairs of socks. Cracking it open, he strokes the soft blue and gold silk cloth folded inside (placed there by himself to be a lining) and reflexively straightens it to fit neater into the box. Resting atop the fancy padding was a gold ring with what appeared to be some kind of orange gem set in it (perhaps topaz? He never did get it appraised from fear of having it stolen) with two smaller white gems (he hoped diamonds) on either side. 

It was the most valuable thing he owned. At least, unless it was actually a piece of costume jewelry and was worthless. Which in all reality, was completely possible considering his uncertainty as to its origins.

He doubted it was a wedding ring, or a family ring, based on the gem choice. McCree couldn’t remember if it had been given to him, or even if he had stolen it. He liked to think younger him snatched it while right under the noses of his fellow gang members during some form of robbery and stowed it away for later. 

What he _does_ recall clearly, is desperately hiding it on his person during his time with Deadlock and finding comfort in the idea that he could probably sell it for money to get himself out if he so wanted.

But in the end he didn’t need to. Three months after finding that ring, Overwatch stormed the Deadlock hideout. While Jesse got a gun pointed at his face as Jefe demanded to know his age, the ring was in his shoe, rubbing uncomfortably against his big toe. 

It just felt important, somehow, and the moment it came into his possession things just started to go his way.

Call him superstitious, but it was his _lucky_ ring. He had also never lost a round of poker while it was on his person, and that was more than enough reason to keep it around. 

He spun it on his thumb tip and tried sliding it down each of his fingers in turn. It was obviously a woman’s ring, and it no longer fit his large, awkward fingers. It used to, years ago when he had first obtained it. It seems his hands had grown a little since that time.

His gut instinct told him he was going to need all the luck he could get, soon. He passed it between his palms for a few more seconds. 

His communicator buzzes. Jesse peeks at it. A strip of text from Gabriel flashes on the screen, telling him to go meet him in the yard.

Jesse pockets the ring. He was going to need it.

  
-

McCree isn’t sure what quite to expect when he joins Gabriel outside. Jack is leaving as he arrives, and doesn’t really acknowledge him when he walks pass; their shoulders barely touching.

Gabriel ushers Jesse forward and points to an elaborate simulation course of sorts, with concrete walls and crappy shacks made of useless sheet metal. There are some of Torbjörn’s weird scanner robots puttering around cover and in and out of the make-shift buildings.

“Here.” Gabriel half pushes him towards the course, a bounce to his step when he runs back to scoop up a controller from its place in the grass.

“Your best time yesterday was three minutes and ten seconds. I brought you what you asked for; let’s see you beat it in ninety seconds.”

Gabe unfolds a mess of metal and string until it clicks into place, and then shoves the object into Jesse’s unprepared hands.

“Jefe, what - “ He stutters.

“Oh yeah, these too.” He gestures to someone behind him, and Jesse turns his head in time to see Jack returning with a full quiver in his arms; containing sleek black arrows with orange fletching sticking out of their shafts.

Jesse lets his hand nervously hover over his pocket for a moment before Jack slips the strap over his head.

“Go get ‘em champ,” Jack says with a hint of sarcasm. His pat on the back comes across as more forceful than necessary, triply so when his inhuman strength was factored in. Jesse buckled forward and had to catch his footing.

“Don’t mind him. He’s just jealous you beat his time.” Gabriel says, shooting a smirk at the other super soldier who then promptly flipped him a middle finger in retaliation. McCree straightened back up and tries to adjust his grip on the bow to seem like he knew what he was doing. 

“He’s here to watch you today. Just do what you did yesterday.” Gabriel pulls out a stop watch, its cyan blue numbers projected out while Gabe hovered his thumb over the start button, ready to start the trial.

McCree swallowed nervously. 

This was impossible. He needed more than luck for this - he needed a miraculous middle-of-the-day impromptu swap to save his ass. There was no way he’d be able to do stealth takedowns with a bow. Jefe was watching him with expectations clear in his eyes. He starts to sweat.

He couldn’t back down. But there was no way he’d be able to beat a time of ninety seconds. Maybe if he went slow and didn’t use the bow he’d be able to do a perfect run, but it would take at least five minutes. 

He was _fucked_.

That was fine. He could at least give it a go. He was _Jesse mother-fuckin’-McCree_ , king of improvising. He could give it a go and if, _if_ he failed, he could fast-talk his way into a plausible excuse.

Yeah. That would work.

“You done hyping yourself up yet?” Jack calls. Jesse stuck out his tongue at the older man and gets into a good starting position to sprint.

“Listo cuando estés, jefe.” He calls. 

Jesse hears Gabriel chuckle from somewhere behind him. It’s reassuring, in an odd way.

“Comienzo.”

McCree takes one step and lands flat on his face.

  
-

“I knew he was full of it.” Jack crows triumphantly. He’s so smug that Gabe is tempted to smack the satisfaction off his face. “At least he managed to complete the course. Who cares if it took him nine minutes and almost spraining his ankle?”

“You didn’t see him yesterday. He must be purposely trying to fail today.” Gabriel insists stubbornly. “And he abandoned the bow almost immediately.”

“Or, he lied about the bow thing yesterday. He’s an orphan child who spent his early years running with figurative wolves. We’re lucky he knew how to write when we picked him up. He could shoot well, yes, but I doubt biker gangs are in the business of teaching kids archery.”

“Pah, don’t exaggerate. He’s a smart kid. There was no reason for him to lie. You didn’t see him, Jack,” he repeats, “It’s like he was a different person. Jesse knew what he was doing. If I could’ve gotten him the bow yesterday, he would’ve done it.”

“Well, he was himself today.” Jack says. “The way he completely wiped out was all him.”

“Maybe he really is just not feeling well.” Gabriel doesn’t quite believe this as an explanation, but he says it to fill up the space between him and Jack.

The blonde shrugs and lounges back on the breakroom couch. He tugs on Gabe’s arm to pull him back with him, showing he was now ready to talk seriously.

“Why didn’t you talk to him yet? Ask him straight what’s going on?” Jack asks softly.

Gabe sighs, and pushes his head back farther into the plush headrest of the couch. 

“Ana told me not to.” He admits. “She told me to wait, saying ‘ _either wait for actual evidence of him doing something forbidden or wait for him to come to you to talk. He trusts you, he’ll speak with you when he’s ready_.’ But I’m tempted to go find him and kick his ass now. If something’s actually wrong, we can’t have any secret bullshit like that fucking up our team dynamic.”

The anger and suspicion from the day before had mostly faded once he slept on it, but a sense of unease still remained, and Gabriel was a man who tended to settle his anxiety with action.

Jack shrugs.

“We’re overthinking something that’s probably harmless. He could just be feeling cooped up, or restless. It’s been awhile since he got to go out and stretch his legs on a proper mission, since he was sick the other day. What were we doing at that age?”

Gabe gives Jack a friendly shove to counter his shit-eating grin. 

“You _know_ what we were doing at his age. We were already in the military at that point.” He grimaces. “But we weren’t ever as _young_ as him. Right?”

“I remember having to sneak around to drink beer other recruits smuggled in cause I couldn’t buy it yet. So yeah, we _were_ that young.”

Waving his hand, Gabriel rolls his eyes and says; 

“That was different.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I want to trust him. I do. Don’t tell Amari, but she’s probably right. I’ll give him a bit more time. He’s probably just… going through some kind of phase. Twenty year olds still do that, right?”

“Sure.” Jack agrees easily, since nothing he could say at this point would really make a difference anyway.

Gabriel didn’t like any of it. Jack and Ana always said he was paranoid, and they were somewhat correct (though he preferred the term _overly-cautious_ ). But none of the others understood. They hadn’t been there for the simulation. The way Jesse had moved, the way he had talked, the way his eyes had observed the room - _everything_ had been different.

If Ana and all the others were willing to brush the odd behaviour off, then so be it. He’d trust their judgement for now, regardless of his own feelings.

He wished McCree would come clean about whatever was going on soon.

  
-

With the embarrassment of being the trash man during training today out of the way, (with witnesses present, even worse) McCree showered, changed into clothes not dirty from mud and sweat, returned his lucky ring to its cigar box for safe keeping, iced his ankle for a few minutes, and then turned his attention to a new priority.

Namely, searching the base high and low for books on language learning.

Specifically, Japanese.

It’s not like he didn’t trust Genji to teach him proper Japanese…

\- Actually, it was exactly that. 

Sometimes he could tell from observing the way that Genji talked to the others around them that the things he was telling him to say weren’t exactly… correct. Mostly though, it was the younger man’s inability to hold a straight face just a few seconds after telling him to repeat something.

And he _understood_ this innate need to troll an outsider. Himself and Gabriel did little secret in-jokes in Spanish all the time, much to the woe of white-bread Morrison. But it seemed that the swaps would be an ongoing thing for at least a while, so taking the effort to understand the language of the area couldn’t hurt.

For a moment he almost wished Liao wasn’t always out, half a planet away; the guy was a genius with language learning, ( _crazy bastard knew at least six_ ) and that was expertise that would be useful to him right about now.

In the end, McCree resolved himself to long nights with just a dictionary and films that allowed him to change audio to Japanese while keeping subtitles as English. 

Fareeha found him first, running into the common room with an armful of books, socked feet skidding across the floor as she tried to stop her momentum. 

“What are you doing?” She starts putting the books back into the communal bookshelf, as neatly as could be managed with the hazardous way some of the content was stacked. 

“Watching a movie.” McCree replied.

“Without me?? Mean!” She stuck her tongue out at him. 

McCree stuck out his tongue back, and pulled down on his eyelid too for good measure until she giggles and drops the annoyed act.

“If you don’t mind reading subtitles, you can join me.” He says after making a show of returning his face to normal. She grins and twirls on one foot, already heading back towards the door.

“Thanks for your offer, but not right now!! Angie is getting me to help her organise stuff today! She says if I do a good job, she’ll teach me how to take a blood pressure - whatever that means.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Doesn’t it?” She blows a kiss and is back out the door in a millisecond. “Maybe later tonight!!” he hears her shout echo back as her sprinting footfalls get further and further away. 

McCree chuckles.

She was a good kid. Ana was doing well by her, even when raising her in the unstable environment of an isolated base during wartime. He could tell now that she was tough - she’d grow up to be part of a similar profession as her mother, though Ana often lamented to the adults that she doesn’t want it to be the case.

Perhaps Angela’s influence would be strong enough to convince Fareeha to become some kind of doctor instead.

Whatever she did, the kid would have a bright future. It almost made him envious at how different their circumstances were. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to be too upset about it - the kid was too cute, she deserved all that she could be given and more.

Crossing his fingers for no more distractions, McCree shuts the door to the common room and resumes the movie. He had a lot of studying to do if he wanted to at least be basic conversational by the next swap. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading this chapter!! ! I'm hype for the next few chapters, since we're officially in the "middle" section of the story now, so those of you who have watched kimi no na wa are probably gonna see more parallels. Probably. _Hopefully_ It's gonna be a wild ride. As always, your comments are always appreciated! They make my day, honestly.  <3
> 
> See you all soon!! :D


	8. Hanzo IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shimada bros learn that having fun isn't hard as long as you have a library card, and that knowledge isn't always power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not proud of this chapter. We’re getting into real slow burn territory. The next chapter might be a bit different… I’m thinking of having it be a back and forth where we get a chapter that swaps from both Hanzo and McCree’s point of view? Maybe. We’ll see, I haven’t decided yet. What do you all think?
> 
> This chapter has been vaguely chill, which is good because enjoy it while it lasts. ;D  
> Also, Christ on a bike this monster is almost 7,000 words long and this fic is over 50,000 words now?? Like, excuse me? How are you guys even dealing haha >.<

  


\---

  


Mornings for Hanzo now included the delightful moment where he determined whether or not he was in his own body. 

He hated it more than anything. It was a situation outside his control, and he very much liked being in control, _thank you very much_. After the relief of; yes indeed he was in the right body, in his room, safe in Hanamura; he gets up and goes to check his valuables to make sure nothing is missing, and then the journal for the American’s account of the switch. 

Flicking through the book once, he spots nothing new. His own note is there, but there is no reply to it in the following pages. In disbelief, he flips through the journal again, carefully checking each page for any kind of message from the American and finding nothing.

_Did McCree not write a note for him?_

McCree had forgotten. The one concrete rule they had put into place was to have accounts of the swap day. Maybe it _hadn’t_ been set in stone, (neither of them had written up the rule and formally agreed to do so) but it was his opinion that keeping each other informed would be top priority and an automatic assumption. To not do so would be imbecilic. 

Hanzo closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, counting to ten before releasing it. He’d make sure to write a note later today about the importance of them keeping up contact. He couldn’t be mad at the American for it - clearly, it seems he would need to be leading the investigation into this supernatural matter.

He climbs up to the roof for early morning meditation, and found himself alone. Which wasn’t in itself too surprising - unless the occasion was special, Genji was not usually awake before late morning or noon, and the few other family members that lived on the expansive property had different places they preferred to meditate.

Sitting cross legged, he enjoys the relative quiet of the early morning, and tries to get in touch with his inner calm. Not to mention, to try to get in contact with his dragons - which, as with other days as of late - were stalwartly ignoring him. 

Hanzo thought they would be more eager to help, considering magic is more in their domain than in his, a mere human. But, despite having access to not one, but _two_ spirit dragons, nothing could ever be convenient. They’d make him work for his answer, just as they made him work for everything else in this life.

Another question he hadn’t thought of before was whether or not McCree would be able to sense the dragons while in his body. His first expectation would be that _no, he would not be able to_ , and that even if he _could_ , he would not be able to control them, nor understand them. They were difficult for Hanzo himself to control on some days, and he had been training with them for _years_. For McCree’s sake, he hoped the other would stay blissfully oblivious to the full extent of power his body holds.

When the sun is finally high in the sky, Hanzo climbs back down and heads to his room to get ready for the day.

After breakfast he goes to training; martial arts, then archery. He meditates again before lunch and once again, got nothing but the silent, heavy presence of his dragons.

Lunch still showed no sign of Genji. When he asked a domestic he was told the younger had requested lunch in his room.

 _Typical_. Either Genji was trying to avoid him, or he had a killer hangover. Or both - the two didn’t have to be mutually exclusive, and usually, they weren’t.

Tracking Genji down was only slightly harder than it normally was. He wasn’t in his bedroom but his empty dishes were still there, as well as dirty clothes and towels, and the bed still unmade. Clearly, the teen hadn’t been gone long since the maids hadn’t been in to tidy yet, either that or their hired help hadn’t seen him leave.

The window and shutters were open. He wouldn’t put it past him to have just climbed out the window in an attempt to avoid him. Hanzo went to the window, peered out, then dug his fingers around the frame and lifted himself up and out. Their ‘ninja training’ really did come in handy.

As expected, Genji was on the roof, lying flat on his back watching the clouds in the same place Hanzo had meditated that morning. It was their spot after all, ever since they were children too fond of climbing and heights.

“Good morning. Or rather, good afternoon.” He greets the younger neutrally. Best not to aggravate him if he was already in enough of a mood to want to escape to the roof. Genji groaned as soon as Hanzo started talking.

“What do you want, Brother?” Genji asks, language somehow managing to be both formally distant yet disrespectful.

Hanzo’s back heckles at being addressed in such a manner, but he forces himself to ignore it for now. Might as well get straight to the point.

“McCree didn’t write a note on yesterday. How did it go?”

Genji scoffs. 

“How should I know?”

“Genji.” Hanzo’s tone is curt. A warning. He hadn’t come up to their spot to fight, but he wasn’t going to back down either. “You don’t have to go into too much detail. Just tell me a brief overview since McCree failed to do so.”

“Maybe he had more important things to do. Maybe he was so caught up in the swap that he forgot to follow through on his promise to you. Happens all the time.”

“Where is this pettiness coming from? Did you two fight yesterday?” Hanzo asks.

Genji avoids his gaze.

“Forget it. The _day_ went fine. We trained, then he went to a meeting, I wasn’t there so I have no idea what was said - but what else is new?”

“Did he mention anything about it?”

“McCree? No. He doesn’t know any Japanese. He’s pretty much useless if you expected him to be able to tell you what our family talked about. He told me he only knows English and Spanish way back on the first day of your swaps.”

 _Spanish_. That would probably explain some of the vocabulary he didn’t recognise on McCree’s behalf, but there was an equal chance of it being English slang as it being Spanish. Genji had much more practise with colloquial English than himself.

It was pure luck that he managed to body-swap with someone he shared at least one language with. He could hardly imagine the turmoil and complete and utter chaos if he had swapped with someone that was, for example , Russian. 

“Have you been helping him learn the language at all?” Hanzo asks. Genji would be the only person to be able to do so, considering the secret nature of their swaps. But he didn’t trust his brother to reliably educate the American in proper polite conversation. He assumed that teaching any kind of writing system would also be a no-go.

Genji was too much of a prankster for any of that. 

“Of course. I taught him _many_ useful phrases.”

Hanzo screws up his face. He didn’t like the sound of any of that. Genji notices his distaste and snorts. 

_Keep pushing through, don’t let him get to you._ Hanzo repeats it in his mind again and again. He had no time to be fighting with his little brother when his cooperation was so vital to this whole unfortunate situation.

“This needs to end before any of this gets out of hand. A lot of things can be explained away with enough excuses and turns of phrase. My suddenly being unable to speak my mother tongue is not one of them.”

“Sucks to suck.”

“Genji!”

“What?” The younger spits.

Hanzo put a hand to his temple. He could feel a slight headache coming on. 

“This isn’t something I can deal with on my own. We need to work together to bring all this to an end. Don’t you want everything to return to normal?”

“Why do you think I’d want it to stop? McCree is a fun guy. I enjoy his company.”

“This could be found out. We would all suffer for it.”

“ _You_ wouldn’t be in any trouble. What would be done? We’ve never heard of this happening before, and our clan probably hasn’t either. You didn’t choose to do this. What is the most they’ll do?”

Hanzo could easily guess what could be done. His activities could be closely monitored by a constant babysitter, or McCree -while in his body- would be locked in a room somewhere in a pseudo house-arrest until the time where they swapped back. Or worse; have his own sanity questioned and be removed from power and replaced with whatever cousin is next in line for the sake of his ‘mental health’. He’d put more credence to the second theory, because everyone was always ready to seize an empty position and upgrade their power, and if the situation was reversed and someone in their family came to him claiming the same situation he’d call them mad and do the same without a second thought. 

So he couldn’t exactly be a hypocrite about it. 

“They could do a lot. Both of us could end up ‘ _disappearing_ ’. Exiled to another city, another _country_ ; I could be replaced as Kumicho.” When Genji scoffs he adds an; “ -and that’s only the light punishments.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m being realistic. People have been killed for less. Do you not take anything serious?”

“You’re switching bodies with an American every few days. How _can_ you take that seriously?” He sounds a little less sure, at least. Genji may not be afraid of a forced one-way trip to another country, perhaps he might even be excited at being freed from a clan he considered a bit overbearing, but even he faltered a bit at anything threatening his mortality.

“Masuyo-san is coming for another visit next month. That’s more people around, outsiders and competitors within our walls watching for slip-ups or signs of weakness that I cannot afford. This needs to be dealt with before then.”

“Masuyo-chan?” Genji screws up his face, animosity temporarily forgotten. “That’s still going ahead? I thought because of …” He looks uncomfortable with saying our Father’s _untimely death_ , guilt still reasonably heavy on him, and then pushes through to finish the sentence. “… _everything that happened_ that it would be put on pause. Perhaps permanently.”

“Not at all. I am still expected to marry her a little over two years from now.”

“They still want a spring wedding?”

“Yes. That’s the plan, anyway.” He’d counted the months and weeks and _days_ in his mind many times since it was brought up at the family meeting. Just eight hundred and seventy days, or a hundred and twenty-four weeks, or two years and around four months away. Did time always seem that short? When he was younger a year felt like forever, and indeed the six years seemed a lifetime away. But now it felt like it would be no time at all before it was upon him. 

Hanzo was never one to balk at the responsibilities required of him. This was expected of him, was _needed_ of him, and so he would complete it contentedly. He just wouldn’t complain at a little more _time_.

Time to do what, he really couldn’t say. He just knew he wished for more of it. His hand absently went to fiddle with the ring and chain around his neck, tucked out of sight under his kosode. _What did Father think of his arranged marriage, of his omiai with Mother when they first met? Surely he was just as uncomfortable. It was natural to feel this sort of disquiet._

Genji looks sympathetic to his plight, face uncomfortably mixed between the anger he was still trying to hold onto and sympathy. The thought that his little brother pitied him pissed him off more than giving him any kind of emotional relief.

At least Genji doesn’t suggest calling it off again like he usually does. It was empty advice - they both knew that Hanzo could do no such thing.

  


“I can help you look around for hints for fixing your condition.” Genji finally says, reluctantly. “If you’re so taken with ending this quickly. But if I were you I’d enjoy it as long as possible. It’s _freedom_ for you, Brother. In the American’s body you can do whatever you want, travel wherever, meet people! I’d kill for such an experience. How often do people say they wish they could experience someone else’s life, for even a day? You’re getting that, but a thousand times better.”

“It doesn’t feel like freedom. I can’t just do whatever I want - his does have his own life, and his own plans.” Hanzo scrunches his forehead as he attempts to recall his swap-partners life. It was always blurry when he returned to himself. “I think he’s on a military base somewhere. So if I just left he could be arrested for defecting. That’s what we have rules. Or rather, I thought we had rules established. I’ll have to be clearer.”

“What do you even know about the guy? Besides that he’s a loud-mouthed American, of course.”

“Not enough.” It wasn’t like he could just ask the people he had met about the body he was in. But at least he remembered more on returning to his body than the first time. “He’s my age, I think. Brown hair, brown eyes. Tall and skinny. I recall being disgusted by his facial hair.”

“Was he cute?”

Hanzo shrugged. “I can’t say.”

“You liar. You have to _know_.”

“I don’t.” He says resolutely.

 _“Brother._ ”

“What? I told you all I know. I hardly remember anything from the swap when I come back, let alone enough to picture the fine details of his face. If you want to flirt with him, go to America on your own time.” Did McCree even live in America? At this point it was just conjecture. His accent was clearly American based upon the accent and drawl in the recordings that Genji had taken during the first swap, but since he lived on what had appeared was a military base, he technically could be anywhere.

“I told you already, I’m not going to flirt with him! He’s just fun, that’s all. I’d like to know what my new friend _actually_ looks like, rather than picturing him as an extension of you.” Genji crinkles his nose. “That’s the only downside to all this, really.”

“Don’t get too attached. We’re getting rid of him as soon as possible.”

“You make him sound like a stray animal we picked up off the streets.”

“There’s not much of a difference. He’s in my space, _my life_ without permission and seems to think he can do what he wants. Not too unlike that wild bunny you caught and kept in my room when you were eight.”

“You didn’t hate it that much. You let me hide him in there for a week before making me find other arrangements.”

“Well McCree’s week is up. He needs to find a new body to mooch off of.”

Genji’s eyes lit up. Hanzo knew what he was going to ask before the words left his mouth. 

“Can you convince him to start swapping with me? I want to visit America!”

“No. I refuse to allow it. Find someone else to body-swap with.” Hanzo’s shut-down came entirely too quickly. Genji looks at him with a coy eye, then smirks.

“Why not? Nobody would bat an eye at my weird behaviour.”

_“No.”_

Genji sighs.

“You’re so selfish. You don’t even want to take advantage of it. You’re awfully protective over a person you don’t even want anything to do with.” The younger raises an eyebrow. Hanzo didn’t know what he was implying, but it would be foolhardy to even entertain the idea of continuing the swaps if he had the chance to stop it. They were both in danger by this, no matter which of them was doing the swaps. If Genji’s behaviour further escalated by becoming American every few days, his exile would come quicker. Even if he could pass the gift on to Genji, he _wouldn’t_. At least with himself, he had years of model behaviour to buffer any suspicion. 

“None of us should be taking advantage of this.” He states, and watches Genji roll his eyes, juvenile to a fault. “This has been an … interesting experience, but it’s time it stopped. Perhaps you may wake up in a few years as someone else, but for now I want to end this and lay low.”

Genji looks long-suffering, but besides pulling a face like an unhappy ten-year old he didn’t say anything more. 

-

  


They walk to the records room.

A more accurate name would be to call it a small library of sorts rather than just a simple room. The records room took up a small section of the house, taking up three stories: a fireproof basement for the most important documents, a main floor, and a second floor that’s joined to the main floor by a steep staircase.

The shelves were stocked with books, journals and scrolls of all descriptions. Many were on weapon technique and fighting styles developed by certain family members through the ages. Others were on craftsmanship: describing techniques on making weapons and fabric in a style unique to their clan - these were more useful in bygone years, now unless a particular family member took a special interest, or something was necessary for ceremony, it was not used.

But by far the most numerous books were the auto-biographies and biographies on their family’s long and convoluted history, family tree, and traditions. At some point the old musty books turned to scrolls if you went back far enough, and some of ancient ones that were over hundreds of years old had paper so thin it was as a butterfly wing. These ones were stored in the basement.

Some older members of the family took it upon them to maintain the library, especially if they were no longer able to be as physically active. A multitude of his and Genji’s great aunts and uncles ( _esteemed elders, all_ ) would wander in and out of the library each day, making sure the room remained clean, cool, organised, and dry. Sometimes they even transcribed the older works to new binding if it seemed they were in danger of being illegible from time.

The most entertaining part of the whole collection was the journals. Every Kumicho of their clan had at least a rough write up of his life and accomplishments added to the library. Sometimes they were extremely short, sometimes they were over a hundred pages long.

It was heavily implied that the person _should_ do it themselves, but there had been examples throughout history where the clan head couldn’t be assed to pick up an inkbrush and instead got a close family member or professional transcriber to do the job. 

Having read through a good majority of the auto-biographies over the years, Hanzo thought that many of them would have benefited from having a professional transcribe their life’s work. Not everybody was eloquent with pen and paper. 

  


“I haven’t been in here for years.” Genji stretched and started absently running his finger along the spines of the closest books. “Not since father stopped making me come in here and read for an hour a day.”

“Knowing our history is important.” Hanzo chided, but with not much real upset. He had also been ordered to read through the works of past Kumicho, and many of them had been rather dry. “At least you got to read the diaries of some of our more… eccentric members. I was told to prioritise previous Kumicho.” 

Heads of the family weren’t the only people to add their stories to the records room. Anybody in their clan was free to do so as a form of attaining immortality, however it was a lot less likely that they would be read.

Genji laughs, memories of scandal and rebellion no doubt flashing back to his mind. He had always enjoyed picking out particularly lewd paragraphs and tracking down Hanzo to show him. Some people more than others were extremely honest about what they wrote in their biographies, while some of the other books kept were literal informal diaries. One particular woman from about a hundred years past kept a diary from when she was six to when she died at age ninety-one, and the entire completed collection filled two shelves.

“Yeah, this place isn’t all bad.” He darts about, looking between and over shelves for signs of another presence. “I think we’re the only ones in here right now. Do you honestly think we can find any information here?”

“We’ve got all afternoon. Do you remember reading anything like that during your time here?” 

Hanzo definitely didn’t. Most accounts by previous heads had all been fairly basic, covering their early childhood, the dates and experiences surrounding the awakening of their dragons, their engagement, marriage, subsequent children - and if no great power struggle happened during their reign - their death. (Written in postmortem by a different family member, of course.) 

“If I did, I don’t remember. But I would think that an account of something like that would stick in my memory. Body swapping with a stranger would be a lot more interesting than, _‘I didn’t skip school today so I could see Akane-chan, I’m worried that if she finds out I’m part of the yakuza she’ll be too afraid to see me anymore_.’ So much teen drama. You sure we don’t have a book here that acts as a directory?” 

“Probably not.”

They split up to separate sections and begin flicking through the books, Genji occasionally complaining, or reading out random passages as he went if he found any of them particularly amusing.

  


Two hours passed in the boring study of the memoirs.

“Brother, this is going nowhere. My legs are getting cramps from sitting so long.” Genji groaned from somewhere amongst the shelves. 

Hanzo grunted noncommittally. He heard Genji huff, stand, and saw a flash of green and white as the younger left the records room. 

He hadn’t expected Genji to stay for more than an hour anyway, it was a surprise that he even made it as long as he did. Hanzo continues going one by one, looking for any mention of out of body experiences or of family members suddenly acting possessed. No such luck.

  


The paper door slides open about a half hour later and Genji returns, holding an armful of snacks. Hanzo ducks to avoid a bag of shrimp chips being tossed at his head.

“To refuel.” Genji says.

“Thank you.” Hanzo replies, genuinely touched. He tears open the chips, being careful not to get crumbs or grease on the books.

“No problem.” Genji returns to his own personal pile and digs back in.

Perhaps they could get through the entire library after all.

\--

  


Their relative peace was disturbed not by curious servants or annoyed tutors, but rather by the door leading to the basement archives opening with a loud creak from its hinges. An elderly woman with white hair in a bun and dressed in a purple and gold kimono enters the room, closing the basement door behind her. 

Both brothers startled at the sound, almost dropping their books, and whipped their heads around a half rotation to stare at the door behind them. Once the millisecond of jitters passed, recognition took its place. Neither of them should have been surprised by the appearance of an elderly relative in the archives: it was practically never empty, unless very late in the evening. Their on-edge reaction only made them look suspicious.

Hanzo recovers from his surprise first.

“Esteemed Great-Aunt,” He rolls onto his knees and bows with his forehead almost touching the floor. From sounds of movement and clothes rustling to his right, he can only assume Genji has done the same. “Good evening. I hope your day has gone well.”

“It has, thank you. You boys are too polite to someone as old as me. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times; you don’t need to be so serious. Raise your head, sweet child - and you too young Sparrow.”

Hanzo feels a soft tap on the part of his hair, and despite himself, gets a small smile. He raises himself up and stays sitting on his knees, watches Genji start sitting cross legged, and they both smile at their Great-Aunt who is sitting on her knees in front of them. Together their positions form an isosceles triangle on one of the comfy floor mats of the library. 

“Granny Mao.” Genji chimes, eyes turning into crescents with his smile. “I haven’t seen you in the gardens lately. Are you feeling well?” 

“The colder weather isn’t agreeable with me.” She admits, the soft lines on her face seeming a little deeper as she lightly frowns. “I’ve been mostly going straight from my room to the library.”

Their Great-Aunt Mao was their paternal great-aunt, (indeed, he was better at following his paternal family line than his maternal one, simply by the tradition of their marriage habits.) and she never married or had children of her own. Both Hanzo and Genji had lost their mom young, and Mao stepped in to help look after the boys as her personal responsibilities were few. She ended up closer to them than their actual Grandmothers despite being a bit unconventional by their family’s standards - perhaps it had influenced Genji more than originally thought.

Their castle was so large as to have many different livable sections, almost like an in-law suite, or semi-attached guest houses. A few of their older family members lived there, slightly out of the way, some had their own separate homes somewhere on the sprawling Shimada property, while some others lived out in the nearby city, and fewer still sprinkled throughout the country. The Shimada family line was large and sprawling, and the closer members were to the ‘main’ branch, the closer they tended to stay to Hanamura.

There was more than enough space to accommodate people - Hanzo and Genji lived in what would be considered the ‘ _Main house_ ’ with an entire floor each to themselves, and the bedrooms sprinkled about the two floors directly beneath them were completely deserted. If he or ( _God forbid) Genji_ ever had children, that is where they’d sleep. Even their live-in help had their own section, and their mindless cleaning drones had their own over-large closet.

Everyone preferred their space, privacy, (as much privacy as could be expected when you lived in a castle full of ninja _assassins_ ) and the quiet that came with it. Great-Aunt Mao lived in the suite closest to the large castle gardens in a back corner of the second floor. 

“So I’m not surprised I’ve hardly seen either of you for the past while.” She ends coyly, directing most of her comment towards the youngest Shimada, and Genji chuckles awkwardly, caught red-handed in his truancy.

“You know me Granny. I’m always busy.”

“You’ve been skipping off your lessons too I’ve heard! You’re a smart boy, you know if you paid attention to your tutors you’d have graduated early too like Hanzo, and with top-honours. I’ve only heard good things about my niece’s teaching techniques.”

“I wanted to try _normal_ school Granny, homeschooling was boring.”

“So you _didn’t_ start skipping public school too after only one month?”

“Uh…”

Mao reaches a wrinkled hand out and pinches Genji’s cheek between her thumb and pointer finger. He squeaks a little but laughs, allowing the elder to pick at him as she wished.

“It’s okay, Sparrow. School is overrated in our line of work anyway.” She smiles and lets go of his cheek. Her pinch left a small red mark. “What brings you both here to my library - and together, at that? Surely it’s not homework. The family stopped assigning you readings years ago, and you’re too young to be writing your auto-biographies.”

“We’re here to do some research on the powers of the dragons. There were relatives through-out our line who had unique powers, right?”

“You should know all about that, my child. You read all those accounts of past Kumicho, did you not? Dreadful things, dry as all else. I can count the entertaining ones on one hand.” Mao scoffs. “What further information are you looking for?”

“Were there any who could teleport or astral project?”

Mao’s chestnut eyes shine with recognition, so for a moment Hanzo holds his breath and hopes to get some kind of proper answer. Perhaps there was some case where the last person who had the ability kept quiet about it until it went away and never bothered to write it down before he died. He’d believe it, considering how stressful the whole ordeal had been so far.

“There were some who were very fast. I’ve heard of family members who, when attuned to their dragon’s power, could run so fast they were a living blur. They might as well have been teleporting.” She says. “Is that what you were thinking of?”

“Not quite.” Hanzo shakes his head. He wasn’t going to overtly say anything too close to the truth. Even in her advanced age, their great-aunt was shrewd. The secret of the swaps were for between him and Genji - and Genji knowing was a liability enough.

Their Great-Aunt gave him a knowing smile, and patted him reassuringly on the knee. 

“I’ve heard whispers that you’ve been acting strange lately. Twenty years old is not too old to be awakening to new powers. Everyone’s experience is different, so I wouldn’t worry.” She brightens a little, curiosity lightening up her eyes. “Are you experiencing visions? It’s rare, but some notable ancestors could see brief glimpses of the future when awakened to their power. It was often misleading though, and lead to self-fulfilling prophesies.”

Genji laughs. “Are you going through dragon puberty again, Brother?”

“Don’t be foolish. I’m just trying to find out what is possible to acquire through the guardian dragons. My own dragons have been the same as ever - and you don’t get to talk, you had one dragon to deal with, so your _‘dragon puberty’_ as you call it was a cakewalk compared to mine.” Hanzo tosses back, and Mao bristles like an offended cat. She flicks him in the forehead - Hanzo wincing more from the surprise than the pain. She never viewed him as formally as his other family members did. 

“Hey, don’t be rude to your brother! I would have killed to have even _one dragon puberty_ , so don’t complain about getting two.” Mao chides. Genji is grinning with glee and snickering off to her side.

“Sorry, Great-Aunt.” Hanzo responses contritely.

She huffs and gives him a final sharp look before her face goes soft again. She looks between their accumulated piles of books.

“You will be cleaning this up, right? I’ll tell the staff not to let you eat supper until you do.”

“Don’t worry Granny, we weren’t just going to leave the place like this.” Genji assures her. She nods, satisfied, and shifts to stand back up.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but don’t be here too late.” She waves a wrinkled finger at them. “You boys are still growing - you shouldn’t be skipping meals. Don’t be like your Uncle Takeshi - he would get too caught up in training to eat when he was your age.”

“I’d rather die than miss dumpling night.” Genji says. Mao chuckles and shakes her head.

“I was more referring to your big brother. Make sure he gets to eat, won’t you Sparrow?” She’s walking to the exit, feet taking small smooth steps like a geisha’s. 

“I promise to not forget about supper, Great-Aunt.” Hanzo bows his head slightly towards his elder. She smiles, slightly appeased.

“Good. I’ll be asking the kitchen staff later, so make sure you don’t.” She warns, and with a wink she’s gone with the library door sliding shut behind her.

  


Both brothers release a breath in relief.

“I wasn’t sure how much she heard from the basement. But it seems our secret is safe” Hanzo says.

“Had she been down there the whole afternoon? What was she even doing? I know Granny likes reading, but it’s dark down there and really claustrophobic.”

“She was probably transcribing. Her ability to mimic the penmanship style of others is excellent. And it’s not dark down there all the time - you just need to bring down the special lanterns with the UV shielding around the globe.”

“There’s too many rules involved with going down there. And the special gloves you need to wear when handling some of the older stuff makes my hands break out.”

“It’s either that or lose priceless documents.”

Genji snorts, his opinion clearly differing on the definition of priceless, but he changes the subject instead of bothering to argue.

“I thought she’d know something, but I guess not. We don’t get any shortcuts. I was hoping there was a magical reference book here with an index shortcut but looks like we have to do this the old-fashioned way.” He stretches and flops on his back onto the floor.

Hanzo watches him quietly.

“You don’t have to stay here Genji.” He finally says, “I can do this on my own.” He should’ve just done this one alone in the first place. He figured that at some point during his search he’d need to dive into the basement archives, and the last time Genji was down there he’d almost destroyed the scroll written by their Grandfather’s Grandfather’s Grandfather by bringing down the wrong kind of light source.

If he had, things would’ve been _bad_.

“I’ll stay.” Genji says. “I’m curious about this too you know.” He cocks his head and watches his older brother carefully, his face more neutral than usual. Then he adds; “If you need to go into the basement, I can stay up here. It’s too cramped down there anyway for two people.”

Hanzo smiles in relief, though it’s small and he schools it away back to neutral almost immediately.

“Very well.”

  


He grabs one of the electric lanterns and heads into the basement with low hopes. As he descends the stairs, he thinks back upon his youth and how he trawled through most of the scrolls there throughout ten years of study, and now he could recall none with such stories as his body swapping with McCree.

Placing the lantern on a hook above, he opens a transcribing desk drawer and withdraws a pair of polyethylene gloves and slides them on. Oil from the hands could transfer to the paper or photographs and damage the paper, and he wasn’t taking any risk with paper that was hundreds of years old. Current Kumicho or not, he’d probably lose a finger if he ruined one of the scrolls kept here. His fingers ghost over a storage shelf with criss-crossing wood, creating cubbies like one would store wine in. Instead of a bottle he pulls out a scroll at random instead.

The auto-biographies are as boring as ever.

Hanzo skims it through, not having to go far as most describe their spiritual awakening with their dragon rather early. It was what defined them and their clan after all, so most tended to fixate on that fact. Not everyone of their bloodline would have the honour of being able to physically manifest a guardian dragon, but those that did took great pride in it, enough to go on about it at length for pages and pages often describing their skillset and abilities in detail.

He rolls the scroll back up, places it into its case and returns it to its proper slot before taking out another one.

The area isn’t _that small_. Genji saying it was too claustrophobic was a bit of an exaggeration if it came down to physical space alone. However because natural light damages books there were no windows in the subterranean archives, so for a kid so reliant on being able to climb, jump, and go wherever he pleased as long as there was sky above him… Hanzo could see where the younger was getting the trapped feeling from.

He personally didn’t mind it so much. It was a matter of being accustomed.

Another hour passes alone with the scrolls before he returns to Genji with no more information than they had that afternoon.

Genji’s half dozing with a journal in front of him, but the younger’s face perks up at the sight of Hanzo and he raises his eyebrows in inquiry. Hanzo shakes his head, answering the unspoken question. Genji’s face falls in disappointment.

“Come on.” Hanzo says, pulling the gloves off by the wrists with a snap and dropping them into a trash bin. 

“Let’s go get supper.”

  


-

  


Their food was still hot when they got to the dining area, some unseen worker must have passed word along to the kitchen that they were on their way. Genji drops down quickly to his seat and after a quick default saying of thanks he bows his head and digs in.

Hanzo eats automatically, picking through his food while his mind wanders. Nothing had come up from their family accounts, and though he hadn’t been expecting anything useful from a quick internet search either it was still marginally disappointing to only see only folk tales and fanfictions in his search results.

“You’re thinking too hard about this. You just need to deal with it until it eventually stops. You asked your dragons, and they didn’t know anything about it.”

“It’s not that they didn’t know anything. They just _ignored_ me when I asked.”

Genji shrugs like that proves his point farther and reaches to refill his side dish of rice. “Same difference. They didn’t think it important enough to comment on. Do damage control and enjoy it while it lasts because it’ll probably stop eventually. This could be a secret coming-of-age thing and nobody’s telling you about it because it’s a test.”

Hanzo snorts at the idea of such elaborate deceit. It’s not that he’d put it past his family, but more so he couldn’t see the point of it. What would this prove? What would it teach him? 

“I highly doubt it. But if that’s the case then in a few years you’d get your wish.”

“I can only hope.” Genji forgets himself and grins with his mouth still full, then raises a hand to cover it and swallows. “Forgive my rudeness, I’m just thinking about when McCree will be back. We’ve got some things planned for his next visit - I want him here during Halloween.”

“Visit? This isn’t like having a school friend over.” The evidence was increasing that Genji was seeing the situation more and more like a hot commodity. ”Don’t let him do anything stupid Genji. I mean it.” Hanzo stresses as the younger pops an entire pork dumpling into his mouth while rolling his eyes.

“Don’t worry Brother. I _promise_.” His tone is bordering on sarcastic, so Hanzo’s not sure whether or not Genji’s only trying to rifle his feathers or is being transparent on his future intent. In lieu of escalating it further Hanzo exhales slowly and redirects his attention back to his food.

Genji had always loved feeding upon any chaos that happened in their structured life; and in this, the swaps were a metaphorical all-you-can-eat buffet. 

Hanzo knew it - this whole thing would be the death of him. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta reader, so I end up doing all the editing myself! (You've all probably noticed, haha) In a few days I may come back and fix a few mistakes that I'm currently blind to, so if this story updates again within the next week don't get too excited because it's probably for that. >.<
> 
> I still honestly can't believe that people are actually reading this - it fires me up so I can keep going! Thank you all for reading and see you all in about a month!!~~ 
> 
> (Also, psssst, if any of you play Overwatch, how are you enjoying the Halloween event? I like the additions to Junkenstein's revenge, though I still haven't beaten expert/legendary mode yet. Ana does less damage than she did last year, so picking off the tires and getting a clean run with no damage to the door is harder than it was. RIP me haha)


	9. Two is Better than One I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes, and we continue to swap back and forth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! 
> 
>  
> 
> I'm late (as per my usual). I thought this semester would be somewhat less busy since it's my second last, but Nursing school never ceases to surprise. ^^;
> 
> I tried writing a back and forth this time? I still don't know how I feel about it. It's nice to change up the format every once in a while though.
> 
> Also, The Christmas event has started! Not many changes from the last year's version, but I wish they had a mode that only had the Christmas-y maps. I'd play winter Hanamura constantly if I could.
> 
> Last but not least, in case I don't get to update again, Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays/Happy New Year to you all! I hope you all have a nice break from work/school and get to sleep in and play lots of video games! Feel free to talk about your Christmas plans in the comments if you want. I personally plan to play a lot of OW and League. (Give me your usernames if you want, I'll add you and we can play!)
> 
> ((Love you all! And as always, thank you for reading!))

\--------------------

  


The swaps started to blur into each other after a while. Hanzo never thought he’d feel this way when they first began, but they were starting to feel almost _normal_. In fact, it was a bit more than that. The line between their lives was getting thinner; their existences were beginning to run together like water colour paints.

They happened at least every few days. If four days passed without a morning where he was not himself it was an abnormality. Yet, each time it got easier and easier, and both himself and McCree had managed to establish some kind of a routine that got them through from the time they woke up to when they turned in to bed _mostly_ uneventfully.

Hanzo supposed that there were worse people in the world he could have been swap partners with. Even if he was in the middle of nowhere, cut off from the entire world at some kind of military base in the body of an American with a hideous soul patch.

It was tolerable. 

McCree was good to his brother, and seemed eager in trying to play along with whatever Hanzo asked of him. He seemed close to his peers at the base, and according to Genji, good spirited. He would be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to checking for notes from the other each morning. (Whether it was him reading the reply to his note at the base, or the account of McCree’s day in his journal didn’t matter.) 

Though it was, at its heart a distraction. Escapism. Something that he shouldn’t be indulging in because enjoying it made him weak, _somehow._

He grabs the journal from atop his dresser and flicks through it once again. He’d read the passages inside so many times by this point that they might as well be memorised. Genji he was sure had flipped through the book too. It had not crossed his mind that there was a possibility of anybody else snooping through his stuff and reading what was not meant for their eyes. If a maid had, then surely it would look strange to see two distinctly different writing styles, and all in English besides. But unless they were fluent enough to read it well, there wouldn’t be any issue. 

He trusted the staff completely. None would disrespect him so much as to breach his privacy. None of his other family bothered to go to his room directly if they needed to speak with him, nor were they in the habit of encroachment.

At least, not with _him._

Hanzo flicks to one of his favourite pages so far in the journal. McCree’s scrawl is flying all over the page like he was writing in a hurry. Yet he knew that wasn’t the case, since the other had taken the chance to write an entire page worth of notes, and his sentences weren’t choppy or rushed.

  


_Hey there._

__

_How are you enjoying my body today? I just realised that could be taken as sexual, and I do not apologise for it. My body is open for you to jump into anytime, darlin’._

He had drawn a winking face next to the cheesy line. Hanzo scoffs every time he reads it, even though it’s been innumerable times, and the swap where it had been written had been weeks ago.

McCree was such a fool.

_Here it’s been very straightforward. No visits by your relatives, just practising archery with Greenback. He says you’re pretty skilled with the bow, and considering what Jefe was saying about how I asked for a bow the other day, I’m not surprised. I only wish it was you who had to redo the test with that thing - I couldn’t shoot the broadside of a barn with it. Maybe I’d be so lucky as to have you shoot for him next time - or even better, I’d get to see ya in action. There’s nothing I admire more in someone than good aim. I’m a pretty good shot myself if I dare say so - if we ever meet the first thing we need to do is have a shoot-off._

Did he always write so affectionately? Still, Hanzo never was one to turn down praise. Hanzo preened under the imaginary words that hadn’t technically been said to him - it was natural for the other for be impressed.

_~~Though, for some reason your brother won’t let me have a gun to show him my skill. I think I intimidate him. Imagine that.~~ _

_I’m no closer to getting an explanation for these swaps on my end. It’s not like there’s anyone I can ask, and there’s no way for me to even try to look up information. I tried looking through our doc’s books at the base but they didn’t help. I’ll keep trying._

_-Jesse_

Hanzo sighs and closes the journal again back onto its creased pages. Masuyo and her family’s visit was coming upon them fast, and the last thing he needed was a swap during that time. Staring at the proof of their secret life wasn’t helping him keep his priorities straight. It was so easy to get addicted to the freedom this gave him; not only physically (personally he felt he could do without the stress of that) but rather emotionally. In a way, communicating with McCree was like putting his inner most thoughts into a bottle unsigned, and sending them out to sea. A stranger might read them, or they might sink into the depths of the ocean and never be seen. But he enjoyed the catharsis of being able to say what he meant for once.

Perhaps the fool was himself after all.

  
__--__--__

  


McCree was alarmed with how easily he had gotten used to his tri-weekly swaps. Things had somewhat settled now, and despite his annoyance at missing Halloween at the base - always a big event as far as Gabriel was concerned (even in wartime!) - he had been glad to take the opportunities for the change of scenery, and for the diversity in his arms training. Hanging out with people around his own age again had also been refreshing in ways that he knew was no doubt stoking the embers of rebellion that had been stomped out of him years ago.

Most encouraging was that nothing bad had happened yet, despite all the potential this had to go wrong. Besides some feelings of unease when faced with the other family in the clan, he squandered his swap time harmlessly and freely.

As time had passed, his own squad had stopped looking at him strangely when he ‘returned’ to the base, and he could only assume that Hanzo had acquired enough insight into his life to be able to fake a believable him-impression for seventeen hours at a time.

Despite all their time as each other, there were still things they haven’t done.

He had suggested experiments; _what if they coordinated their sleeping times so that they didn’t end up overlapping at any point? Would they not switch back and be forced to stay as each other for another day, or would they automatically swap the moment the twenty-four hour mark hit?_

McCree wanted to know these answers, but Hanzo had refused to test the theory. If McCree had to guess, he would think that the other was afraid of him exploiting a loophole to force them to swap permanently. Jesse himself was worried that Hanzo would exploit it so they never swapped again until it stopped naturally.

So in the end they both dropped the issue.

By this point himself and Hanzo had burned through six of Angela’s tiny notepads and he eventually admitted that he had to go digging for a better solution than pilfering paper meant only for medical jot-notes. To reduce the risk of being found, (Fareeha was more of a risk than anyone else) he then switched to keeping logs on the internal notes app on his tablet instead, and though it was more private than a paper trail he had to admit he missed the personality shown through Hanzo’s writing; a personal thing that could only be conveyed through pen on paper.

So sometimes he’d dig out the notebooks from under his mattress and re-read some of their old entries, even though they were rife with suspicion and were laughably passive-aggressive at times. The common theme of Hanzo begging to be allowed to shave off his soul-patch never ceased to make him chuckle, and his indignant replies to being flirted with never ceased to be a good time. It was hard to believe they used to be so stressed out about it all, but that had been almost two months ago. Practising his conversational Japanese had also certainly helped.

Things were much easier now.

On the professional side of his life there had been talks of shutting down a supply route in late November, a destructive operation that would be viewed as an act of terrorism in any other time than now. They would bomb a mountain to cave-in a key railroad tunnel somewhere over on the Northern-most quarter of India. This would - _according to Liao at least_ \- help cut off supplies and reinforcements from the omnics and better allow the human resistance to dwindle the power of their robotic overlords.

Of course at the time Jack had argued that cutting off a key transportation system would be disastrous for the humans as much as it was for the omnic threat, but according to Liao’s most recent monthly check-in; _‘The damned things have complete lockdown on all the railroads as well as most forms of transport, so it’s not like we can use it anyway. I vote for evening the field.’_

By this logic, they might as well bomb it and worry about rebuilding once peacetime came again.

An operation like that would also take away suspicion from their next true strike in North America. Having the AIs focus on a whole another continent was ideal. Half of the effectiveness of their team came from their tendency to surprise and do what they had to do too fast to allow retaliation. 

As such, Torbjörn was now spending his time holed up with a supply of plastics, gunpowder and wire as well as a ‘do it yourself’ bomb-making book in order to whip up some home-made explosives for their operation. 

_I’ve got this more than covered,_ the Swede had boasted as he hauled box after box of raw supplies from their basement to his workshop. _For an engineer as skilled as I, makin’ bombs are like bakin’ cakes! Y’just have t’have the right ingredients!_ He then laughed heartily and smacked a large cylinder of Composition C in merriment while everyone watching yelled out in alarm.

For now, everyone else was also preparing for the mission. Angela was struggling to put together first aid kits that had enough content to perform emergency surgery yet still weighed less than five pounds, while Gabriel stared at various maps and holograms and tried to decide on the best infiltration and exfiltration route. McCree wasn’t sure what his specific role would be yet, but he sat with the others and reviewed safe explosive handling and how to arm or disarm bombs all the same.

For the first time since it all began, McCree hoped that they would have a week without swaps. Not that he didn’t trust Hanzo to be able to act appropriately during a mission, but rather he wanted it to be himself that succeeded, not someone else masquerading in his body.

  


\--__--__--

  


“Tell me more about him. Do you remember more about him now?” Genji hangs half off the couch like a possum, legs and butt flung up the back while his torso lay flat and his head hung down over the edge. There was no question as to who he meant - there could be no one else.

“Stop.” Hanzo quickly shushes him and darts around the room, checking behind all the doors and the hallways to make sure the area was completely clear, then turning up the TV to double its current volume before bothering to respond. Genji watches him from the couch with dull amusement. “I didn’t come find you just to talk about that.”

“Paranoid much? Even if people did overhear us, we could be talking about anything. What is the saying? _The truth is even stranger than fiction_ here, brother.”

“In our case there could be those around who believe in the strange. We know more than most the existence of magic after all. “

“You’re avoiding the question. It’s been _months_. You won’t tell me what he looks like, so how about where he lives?”

Hanzo sighs. _Always with the questions_. Genji’s swap-envy got more apparent with each passing week.

“I already told you what I know about his appearance.”

“- hardly anything - “ Genji grumbles, which Hanzo ignores and continues.

“ - And I don’t know much myself about where he lives. Things are always hard to recall once I wake up here again. Though they’ve been easier lately...” Himself and McCree had theorised about that as well. The easiest theory to accept was that as their bodies got more used to the situation, the easier it was to recall memories from the swaps. This was a great relief from the gaps and black-out periods that blighted their memories for much of the beginning. Even if he recalled a day that was not in his own body, Hanzo greatly preferred that to remembering nothing of the day at all.

“Well, tell me all that you remember then.”

“Why don’t you ever ask him then, if my answers so dissatisfy you?”

Genji replies a touch defensively; “Usually we’re too busy for the topic to come up often, and when I do ask he always changes the subject. He’s American, and knows Spanish, but that’s all I know. And I mean - he never asks me any questions about where we live either, though it’s obvious that we’re in Japan. Maybe that’s good enough for him.” 

“We’re at a military base tucked away in the middle of nowhere… perhaps Northern America? The weather was fairly cold, and I’ve seen mountains while outside. But I can’t ask anybody there without sounding suspicious. McCree would know their location after all. I mean, I hope he would.” Hanzo frowns. He hadn’t considered the possibility of ignorance before.

Genji starts kicking his feet against the top of the couch, waiting for him to continue.

“There’s a small group of people with me… we’re a small military unit training for something, but I’ve not been swapped on a day where we actually ran any kind of mission. Almost all the drills I’ve participated in are done against robots.”

Genji’s eyes light up.

“That’s so cool! Father hardly let us have any kind of fun with that sort of stuff. Were they the fancy new types with that Real-Time AI? Did they ‘ _think, react and adapt?’_ ” He says it in the same upbeat jingle as the commercials did.

“Not at all. They were home-made by the base engineer, and extremely poorly-made at that.” Hanzo grimaces as he thought of the man’s indignation if he ever said that to his face - Torbjorn was loud and would be liable to clock him with a wrench. “Their structure was okay, but their movements were easily predictable. It wasn’t effective training.” 

It was also likely that they mightn’t had much spare materials to work with, considering they had all looked like they had been recycled thrice over. What kind of secret military base was that poorly funded?

“Lame.” Genji blew a raspberry and rolled himself up over the top of the couch, drops off the back and onto his feet. Easily bored by the lack of information, he seems eager to flee in want of a better distraction.

“Listen, you know Masuyo-san and her family arrive tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah? So?”

He sounds less sympathetic than the last time they discussed this. Hanzo awkwardly straightens his posture and looks him directly in the eyes until Genji falters and looks away.

“McCree will probably be there for almost half of the entire visit. It’s imperative that things go according to plan. If we’re lucky - “

“-If _you’re_ lucky - “ Genji corrected.

“ - If _I’m_ lucky then, then she and her family will spend most of their time discussing things with our family and McCree won’t have to speak to her at all during his time here. He can probably get away with faking sick for one of his days too, so this will be salvageable.”

“He knows a little Japanese.” 

“Oh? Enough to carry on a polite conversation?” Hanzo’s not too surprised because McCree had written that he was trying to learn a little in their journals back and forth. Genji had admitted to trying to teach him bits and pieces as well, but he had severe doubts that it was any good.

“He’s… okay.”

“How’s his accent?”

Genji shrugs, which was a much better reaction than the cringe that Hanzo was expecting.

“It’s pretty good actually. I think he said it had to do with him knowing Spanish.”

“Does he talk as I do?”

“…Uh, he sounds better than an extremely foreign- foreigner would.”

Hanzo took a moment to process that answer. Then asks;

“What does that even mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Genji checks his phone and stretches, then heads for the sliding shoji without bothering to turn the TV back off.

“Are you going to practise?” Hanzo asks.

“Yeah. Starcraft.” Genji answers flatly and then ducks away without waiting for a response.

“Did you even bother going to school today?” Hanzo loudly calls, and hears distant laughter.

_He was still such a child…_

He turns off the TV and stands alone in silence for a moment.

__Only one day left. He prayed tonight wouldn’t be a swap.

__--__--__  


It was after supper when Gabriel approached him, tapping him on the shoulder and encouraging him to step outside the TV room for a moment to talk.

Jesse swallows nervously, but stands, excuses himself to Fareeha and follows him out into the hallway.

“Perhaps this should be done somewhere not as open…” Gabriel mentions and paces away down the corridor, looking at door after door until he finds a vacant bedroom. He ushers McCree in and then stands tall with his arms crossed.

“Jefe.” McCree acknowledged him, though his dry mouth made his voice crack a little. It must be serious for him to be pulled away like this.

“As you know, our mission starts tomorrow. But you haven’t been assigned a team yet.”

Jesse tenses from his neck all the way down his spine to his toes. There was to be two teams for tomorrow. Technically three, but he didn’t count Fareeha camping out in the radio room or Angela watching after the base as a _team_.

One group was to go to India, most of the trip done in their only other air vehicle - a tiny, stealthy helicopter - before stashing it in a black-out zone and completing the rest of the trek on foot. They would then sneak in, plant the explosives inside a mountain tunnel and activate them via timer since Torbjörn insisted that a remote detonator would be traceable and could be prone to interruption. McCree suspected he just liked the excitement of getting to set the numbers and have to escape before the time ran out.

If things went well, they’d be able to exit without incident and maybe meet-up with Liao. If things didn’t go well… well it was good that so many of their members were good at thinking on their feet.

The second group was to take a trek outside of the base and attempt to retrieve and secure a supply drop which had gotten off-course. The plane had started getting shot at during its first attempt at a drop and so the return attempt had ended up being both a week late _and_ extremely off-course. Their attempted drop location had been the ruins of the closest nearby town. Unfortunately their base was tucked away in the Swiss mountains, practically in the middle of nowhere - which meant the nearest town was three days away on foot.

It was strange that Gabriel had waited so long to assign him to a team. Especially since there was only one logical position for him to be placed. McCree waits with eager anticipation.

Gabriel spoke with conviction;

“You’ll be on team two; entrusted with going out and retrieving our lost cargo.” he says, and Jesse’s jaw dropped.

“Excuse me? You gotta be kidding me, Jefe, I’m more than ready for the India mission. I’ve been training with all the others, I’ve been memorising the bombs, I’ve been -” He cuts himself off when he realises he’s rambling and bites his tongue.

Gabriel’s face went stiffer if that were possible. 

“You heard me. I know you’ve been training hard, and you’ve made a lot of progress. But we need those supplies, and we also can’t afford to delay the railroad plan in order to go out and look for it.”

“Why can’t it be someone else? Torbjörn, or Ms. Amari? Reinhardt?” He knew better than to suggest Jack, because Jefe and him had been partnered since way back when they first joined the military (or so the rumour went) and they worked so well together that having them both on a mission made them more than the sum of their parts. They hardly ever went on separate ops if they could avoid it.

“Because Dr. Lindholm is needed to fly the helicopter and in case something happens with the explosives; Ms. Amari is needed partly as cover and surveillance with her sniper rifle, and partly as a field medic. Reinhardt is coming because his shield is invulnerable in case something does go wrong.” He explains patiently, and if anything this makes McCree angrier. He was being treated like a child.

“So I’m useless then.” He snaps pettily, and sees Gabe’s eyes narrow at his rudeness. He let that quip pass, but likely wouldn’t be so lenient with the next one.

“Not useless. Superfluous. We’d be bringing you too if the U.N.O.R hadn’t messed up their supply drop. If the contents were simply food we’d have named it a lost cause and just waited until next month, but as it is we can’t do that. The supplies they enclosed are necessary for the repairs on our combat drop-ship, and if they fall into the wrong hands… who knows what the omnics would do with it. The battery enclosed alone could provide power to a single house for a year.” He pauses, then adds the kicker. “Ms. Angela will be accompanying you also to watch your back.”

“What?” Being cut from the big-boy mission was hard enough, but being saddled with unnecessary back-up too made the embarrassment even worse. “I refuse to babysit her. It’ll be faster if I go alone, there’s no reason to bring her.”

“She’s got field training, same as you, and can handle a pistol and a handheld EMPE just fine. So unless you know what medical supplies we’re currently running out of and what they look like, then she’s going to have to go with you.”

“Then it’s not just finding the crate, it’s scavenging for more meds too.”

Gabriel nods. Jesse scowls at him, retort at the ready. His blood was pumping hot in his chest now, he felt agitated and ready to fight, for what little good it’d do. 

“This is unfair, and you know it. I have a steady shot, I’m fast on my feet and… reasonably good at stealth. If I knew I was just going to be shoved off to the side every time a serious mission happened I would have asked you to leave me to rot in New Mexico. At least with Deadlock they trusted me.” He spits as his hands clench into fists.

That was a bit of a lie. He sometimes resented having his freedom handed over to a military group, but there was no doubt that his life now was better than it was years ago. He was glad things had went this way, but if he was still in New Mexico he’d be a lone wolf, safe in his obligation to nobody. It was less scary that way.

What if something happened to them all, and he wasn’t there? He knew it was unlikely, but it was a possibility. Anything could happen, and what would he do then? Wait forever with Fareeha and Angela back at base for a team - _a family_ \- that might never come home? At least if he was present he could try to help. At least if he was present he would _know_.

He hears Gabe take a long breath in and out through his nose. This was it. He had exhausted Gabe’s patience.

“You have no choice in this matter.” Gabriel says sternly, his voice finally starting to hold a hint of command as it transitions into _Commander Mode_. “Angela can’t go by herself, and you have no place with us this time. Do you understand me?” 

McCree sets his jaw.

“Yes Sir.”

“You’ll take the backpacks set out for you and not return to base until you’ve found the drop, or until Ms. Ziegler is satisfied with what she can salvage. Team one won’t return for five to seven days, so you have time.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Any questions?” Gabriel is staring down at him like a behemoth and McCree only wants to scream like some kind of bratty teenager, a mouse fighting against the lion. But this was Overwatch, not New Mexico. Throwing a punch or starting a yelling match would do nothing more than give his allies reason to kick him out quicker than they were already going to. They wouldn’t give him a smack to the face or a half-hearted threatening with a gun or with a knife to make him shut up. They’d be much worse - exiling him with more exclusion and dropping contact with him even faster when the war was over. It was clear they already didn’t trust him.

He wants to argue back more than anything. He wants to beg. But Jefe is an unmovable force.

McCree looks into Gabe’s eyes and feels a sudden flood of shame. How foolish he was to think that he was deemed good enough by the others.

“No Sir.” He responds, and manages to hold eye contact while inquiring; “Can I be dismissed, Sir?”

“You may.” Gabe still sounds just as gruff as before, and McCree slinks away with the feeling of holes being bored into the back of his neck. Fareeha is waiting for him back in the TV room and looks towards him as he enters.

  


“Are you okay? You look sorta… down.” She peers at him while their samurai movie continues to play in the background. McCree put on a stressed smile, knowing it would look awkward but hoping Fareeha wouldn’t comment on it.

“I’m just nervous for tomorrow. It’s getting late, I should head back to my room now ‘cause I have to get up early tomorrow. Okay? You can finish this without me.”

Her hand goes to the pause button on the remote control while McCree was already making his escape out of the TV room. But Fareeha was faster, launching herself off the couch and running at him to grip his arm. McCree grunts; the girl was stronger than she looked. Must be all those karate lessons with her mother.

“Jesse.” She says, “It’s okay to be scared; you don’t have to hide in your room! I’m scared too! Mom is going really far away and I’m not allowed to come again - not even to just stay in the vehicle. You’re so lucky that you get to go!! It’s not fair, but Uncle Gabi’s dumb and says no to my help.” Her face screws up into a pout. “But I’m watching a movie with you anyway, so be thankful.”

McCree chuckles, mood lightened slightly. “I am thankful. But I’m really tired…”

“ -And nine PM is waaaay too early to go to sleep, mission or not. We’re at least finishing this.”

“Fareeha.” He starts, but she interrupts him.

“Pleeeeeease?” Her eyes were big and round, and she stuck out her lower lip into a cute pout.

Jesse couldn’t say no to that face, no matter how much he wanted to brood alone in his room.

“Fine. But only until the movie ends.”

She cheers and hugs him.

“You’ll feel better once we watch the samurais learn the secret of the pizza fountain.” She promises while pulling on his arm to drag him back to the couch. “I’m putting my faith in Jepetto.”

McCree had no idea where she found the movie, but it was entertaining in an surreal, _‘so bad it’s good’_ sort of way. It also was Japanese dubbed with English subtitles, so that was all that really mattered for him. For Fareeha the movies were all fun and games, but for him it was a half-assed study session. He slumped back into the cushions and hoped that the antics of the Pizza Yakuza was enough to distract him. 

Perhaps it would be best if they swapped tonight after all. He could really use the escape.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna try real hard to get another chapter done before New Years since I'm excited as to what will happen, but I make no promises. Forgive me!!! OTL


	10. McCree V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arranged marriage dates sure are great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> I'm so sorry. It's been, what, seven months? I know there's no excuse, and this chapter is shorter cause I wanted to rush it out fast. Ahhhh I feel so bad. Hopefully there's no inconsistencies. I'll come back and fix em if I find any.
> 
> A lot has happened. All of winter I was doing full-time nursing workterms, then I graduated in April, and **then** I was studying to write my licensing exam! It didn't help that I haven't played Overwatch that much lately due to a variety of factors, and that was one of the things that helped get me in the mood for chapter writing.
> 
> Then I'd just feel guilty about not updating and that would dissuade me from working on a chapter...
> 
> But as I promised like... 5 chapters ago, this thing has literally been planned out chapter per chapter until the end. The literal only thing stopping me from finishing this is the drive to write, and time. Don't worry. This _will_ get finished. I'm too excited for future events to stop now. xD 
> 
> xoxo! Please enjoy... and don't hate me. OTL

\----------------- 

He had gotten his wish.

This was a swap day. He could tell before even opening his eyes - Hanzo’s sheets had a very luxurious feel, very distinct from his own. That meant he could sleep in.

He rolled over and shoved his face into the pillow.

 _Sublime_.

                McCree dozes for an unknown amount of time, wrapped in soft sheets with a thread count larger than the current year. A knock at his door and the jingle of a text rouse him, and he slides up in a daze, one hand squeezing at his chest and another rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

He’s expecting greenie.

                “Come in!” He calls while still rubbing at himself. A maid opens the door very politely. Cautiously creaking it open and peeking her tiny head in. She says something to him softly, then shuts the door with a click. Always fast to take her leave, never staying too long as to risk causing discomfort or irritation. He’d noticed the help here were always like that, especially with him.

Too bad he had no idea what she had just said.

He watches the door a moment and shrugs, dropping back into bed. The cell phone jingles again, and this time he bothers to look at it. There’s two texts there on the lock screen surprisingly not from his ‘brother’, but the picture icon is from some girl he’d never seen before. 

Speaking of which, why was Hanzo’s phone so _old_? He was rich wasn’t he? Did he just not care about technology?

But then again, Genji liked to be on top of all the newest technology - as well as collecting all the old stuff - and even his phone was only a model or two after Hanzo’s. Maybe Japan was a little behind America with this brand of cellphone? _Naw, that couldn’t be it_.

The uprising had screwed a whole matter of things up technology-wise. People got paranoid and started chucking out everything with a basic AI almost immediately; some even went farther and forwent anything with an internet connection. (Which actually wasn’t too bad of an idea.) Maybe the brothers had picked up an older model as a protective measure? _Well, at least they had cell phones in the first place_. Jefe had smashed Jesse’s the moment he was taken into custody.

Jesse presses his thumb over the sensor. Nothing. Hanzo had his fingerprint-unlock option turned off it seemed. Smart of him. It must have been a recent decision, since the last time Hanzo forgot to take fingerprint lock off his phone Jesse had went in and screwed with all the settings, unable to read what they did due to the kanji.

He chuckles and tosses the phone back to the bedside table.

                He must have drifted off again into a light snooze because the next time there’s a knock at his door it comes much louder and much less patient.

                   “Yeah?” He calls out, and the door reopens to show the same maid as earlier. She speaks louder at him, with a hint of urgency in her voice, and Jesse wants to say that he doesn’t understand but all he can do is smile awkwardly and nod. She smiles tensely at him, bows and leaves with a slightly louder slam of the door.

At least he should get up.

                   So he pulls himself out of bed and washes his face, brushes his teeth, brushes his hair - admittedly he takes much longer to do this than he needs to, but Hanzo’s hair really is _gorgeous_ \- and by that point there’s a third set of knocks and _honestly_ Jesse doesn’t really want to say ‘come in’ this time.

He doesn’t have to.

                   This time it’s Genji here to fetch him, neon green hair the first thing he sees and a huge relief.

                   “Greenback!” He calls, running over to briefly hug the younger teen. He’s tense for only a second but it quickly evaporates as Genji gives him a quick squeeze back.

                   “Jesse McCree! You picked the best day ever to swap.”

McCree grins.

                   “I thought so too.”

Fuck Jefe, fuck the mission and fuck whatever it was they wanted him to do. If they didn’t think he was good enough to help them, they didn’t need him at all. Hanzo could probably do a better job than him anyway, being trained in a dragon cult and all.

                “When the maids said you weren’t getting up I thought something was strange. I knew I had to go check it out. Hanzo is going to be so _mad_.” Genji is grinning from ear to ear, happier than a kid on Christmas. “Today Masuyo-chan is supposed to be coming. She and her family are gonna be staying here for a week, probably. If things go well.”

The name was feminine, but Jesse’s pretty sure he doesn’t know who that is. It faintly rings a bell - perhaps he had heard the name in passing - but outside of that he’s at a loss. It makes him feel like he’s being rude.

                “Now don’t take this wrong Greenie, but I have no idea who that is. But if you did tell me about this before and I forgot, I do apologise.” He says.

                “Nope! I haven’t told you before. You’ll never guess.” Greenie only waits half a second before blurting out the answer. “ - She’s your future bride!”

                “Not mine,” McCree automatically corrects, though for some reason his stomach started to twist a little at the other's words. “Hanzo’s.”

Genji shrugs.

                “Same difference.”

He wasn’t shocked, not one iota. It made sense. Of _course_ Hanzo would have an arranged marriage. By all accounts his family looked old and rich, and were part of a cult besides. It would probably be some kind of similar girl, mirror of himself, pawn to her family and trained in some fancy ninja shit.

                “I can’t meet with them. Hanzo will kill me.”

                “What my brother doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”  Genji replies flippantly. He’s dressed well, McCree finally notices, fancily like he’s seen only during celebrations in Asian comics and cartoons. Long sleeves and coats reaching to mid-thigh, rich colours and long white stockings.

                “What? Greenie, I only know a lick o’ Japanese. Hardly enough to talk about something so sensitive. If I fuck this up…”

Genji rolls his eyes. “Why do you care?”

McCree bites his tongue. Saying; _Hanzo would never speak to me again_ was the first thought through his mind, but he doubts it would appease Greenie.

                “Yer brother would track me down and kill me. I’m not fuckin’ this up for him. I’m faking sick today, you can’t convince me otherwise.”

                “No one in this family will kill _you_.” Genji says flatly. There’s some kind of determination in him that McCree finds strange. This is more than him wanting a rare day of fun. Genji is pushing hard for this like he wants to watch a show, some fascination of pushing mentos and coke together just to watch it explode.

McCree stays quiet a moment, mulling over his options.

The last thing he wants to do is lay around in the bedroom all day. At the same time… this engagement is probably important to Hanzo. He can’t risk fucking it up.

“Look, I’ll even come with you. I’ll translate. We will say you are practising your English or something. I am sure it will work.”

He wants to. But he should check Hanzo’s diary, see if the other gave him any guidance. Surely the other has planned for this - Hanzo always was two steps ahead when it came to anticipating swaps.

Genji sees his hesitation and his gaze flicks quickly away and down, then back to McCree. McCree wants to turn to see what he was looking for but Genji speaks again.

“You don’t have time to check. Everyone’s already waiting. Look, I will help you get dressed. Trust me, I know what Anija would want. He’s okay with this.”

He’s at the closet and back with a hanger holding numerous articles of clothing before Jesse could even blink. Tossing them carelessly onto the bed, he grabs at certain pieces of the garment and throws them at him, one at a time. Jesse catches the pieces dumbly, staring at the foreign clothes like a hundred piece puzzle with no edge pieces.

“What are you waiting for?” Genji pauses when he notices McCree’s inaction. “You can at least put on the socks without help, right?”

Jesse was a gambling man, but he wouldn’t exactly bet on it.

 

“Maybe.” McCree glares at the fabric with much doubt, then over at the holographic clock on Hanzo’s bedside table. It was already eleven, an hour since the first knock at his door woke him up. “How long did it take you to get ready this morning?”

“Uh, probably about twenty minutes?” Genji looks at ease in his outfit, not at all restricted in his manner of dress. “I’m used to having to dress quick.”

Jesse fumbles with the white stockings and shoves them on, stripping off his pajamas and putting on the bottom layer of the formal wear. It was silky soft and light blue, crosshatched with black navy and gold.

                It looked nice enough to be worn on its own, but Genji thrust another dress-like robe at him ( _Kimono_ , he knew that word at least) and he pulled the midnight blue robe on over his thinner one. Genji helps him with tying the belt-like sash, then stepping him into a large pair of what looked to be striped parachute pants, then a larger draping coat which he secured with a fancy white and gold cord slipped between two thread loops on the coat and knotted expertly by Genji. There was a big puffball hanging from it.

Last he stepped into an uncomfortable pair of wooden sandals. He wobbles a second, but then stabilises. No harder than walking in Angela’s high heels.

 

They both take a breath.

 

                “You’re done. I’m so proud.” Genji wiped a mock tear from his eye. “Now come on. We mustn’t leave our _dear_ third cousin once removed waiting. Or was it fourth cousin twice removed? Oh well. It doesn’t matter. ”

 _What_? He couldn’t have heard that right.

                “Woah woah woah there, _cousin_?” McCree stops just shy of stepping past the bedroom door, hand holding the doorknob. Genji starts pushing on his back, trying to force him through. McCree digs in his feet and almost topples over. “I’m marrying my _cousin_?”

 

“- _Third_ cousin. Give or take one or two removals.”

“Really? Why? Don’t ya’ll have enough luck with the ladies to not have to resort to inbreeding?”

Genji glares at him like he’s the childish one, for once. It’s odd to see a look of such exasperation on the carefree teen. McCree feels this doesn’t happen that often. He wishes he could have taken a picture for Hanzo to see later.

                “At this point it’s _hardly_ considered being related. She’s some offshoot branch started from uh…. Three generations up? Coming from our paternal great-great Aunt. I could show you the drawn out…What’s the word in English? Um…   _Keifu._ A tree.”

                “Then why not just marry a normal person then?”

                “What use would that be to us?” His snootiness is back; haughty in his privilege. “A few generations ago we had a lot of territory to cover and less manpower. One of the older daughters of the current Kumicho went across the country to marry for a small upstart’s money and influence, and with her ambition started a little empire of their own. It sounds dumb, but it’s just to keep the bloodline somewhat pure… and to secure financial and territorial ties.”

He speaks this out with the practise of one who has heard this, studied this, memorised and recited this countless times. This wasn't an unusual happening, at least not to him. Probably not for Hanzo either.

                “That’s terrible. Doesn’t Hanzo get any say in this?”

                “What do you mean? He’s the oldest. This is his duty. Why are you so upset?”

Genji’s complete confusion only alarmed McCree more. He couldn’t imagine being told who he’d marry - not that he’d likely live long enough to get that opportunity, but still.

                “I’m just saying; it’s a partnership for the rest of his life. He should get a say.”

                “Sorry to be the one to tell you cowboy, but life isn’t fair.” Greenie laughs, and gives him another push. Playfully, this time. “Come on, let’s go. Anija’s accepted it. He’s known for a long time. I’m just glad that I don’t have to be match-made.”

McCree's struck with a note of sadness. He bites his tongue.

                “Why not?”

The younger’s good mood returns, and when he steps past McCree he gives him a wink.

                “Second-born, second place.”

 

It’s ironic, McCree thinks; that the bird flying free in the sky yearns to be back in the cage. Perhaps at least in the cage he’d feel like he was loved.

Jesse understands the struggle well.

 

__--__--__

                He’s led out through the pavilion to a parlor-like seating area. When he arrives he’s given many disapproving looks by stone faced adults that makes him cringe. Formally dressed family members sit flocked like puffed up ravens, filling one half of the room’s cushions. Genji sits behind him. It’s slightly reassuring.

                Five minutes later the other family is lead into the room, a smaller crowd but looking no less stern. Was this an engagement or a funeral?

They bow.

Then his side bows.

                The older adults part and find their seats, and when McCree raises his eyes from the floor he gets his first view of who he assumes must be Masuyo. Or, she was the youngest one there so he _hopes_ that she’s Masuyo.

She’s absolutely breathtaking, like a delicate heroine in some old western. Her kimono is black with pink highlights, embroidered with gorgeous flowers: red and purple asters, orange chrysanthemums, white daisies and pink cherry blossoms. Her sash is shining gold with a pink dahlia pinned to it. The dress is so long he can only see the tips of her white socked feet before she kneels; scooping up her floor-length sleeves delicately so they don’t get caught in under her. She has brown hair tied up into a bun, and natural colours applied as make up. Her lips are a soft pink.

                He’s been holding his breath. McCree lets it out as slowly as he can manage.

 

The proceedings are held almost entirely by the adults, with the bride-of-honour sitting demurely and quietly next to her older family members. Besides her there’s an older man with short white hair and a trimmed beard, one middle aged man with salt-and-pepper stylings and another man with the exact same crooked nose but a little younger. There was one with bleach blond shoulder-length hair who seemed to be in his early twenties. The only other woman that was there besides Masuyo was a middle-aged woman in a burgundy kimono sitting directly next to younger crooked-nose man, whom Jesse assumes is likely her husband.

                Genji whispered their designations to him as discreetly as he could manage. Masuyo’s father, his right hand man (who was also her uncle), her Aunt, Grandfather, and cousin had all come.

The whole time he’s addressed only once; and before he even has the chance to stutter out whatever barbarian Japanese he picked up from Fareeha’s anime collection Genji whispers the appropriate response to him.

McCree never felt more grateful in his life.

                _Actually, change that_. _Second_ most grateful he’s ever felt.

They are served tea, then lunch, then tea again all sitting together in that room. It’s about two hours before supper when the meeting finally breaks up with another set of bows and a shaking of hands. When McCree goes to stand he trips on his clothes and Genji catches his arm but they both tumble together back onto the wooden floorboards.

                McCree hears giggling clear as a ringing bell, cutting off with a snort followed by a mortified gasp. He smiles then up at Masuyo, now hiding her reddening face behind two slender hands. _The goddess was human, just like any other young mortal woman._ Somehow it makes the mortification slightly easier to bear.

He stands and finds it much easier than usual to ignore the glares of ashamed clan members. Genji looks similarly humiliated, but McCree gives him a light poke to the arm and a contrite grin, and he snorts.

What would Jefe do in this situation? He’s seen more of his boss’ awkward courtship than he’d like to admit, and though he’s sure Reye’s relationship dynamics were far from typical he also knows that the default rules of being a gentleman probably was a universal concept regardless of culture. At least that’s what he _chose_ to believe.

                Bravado intensified, he straightens his back, ignores the adults around them and with a slight bow, offers his arm to Masuyo like any proper gentleman would do. _They were supposed to be engaged right_?

Genji makes a choking sound. The room quietens. McCree looks over his shoulder to Genji’s terrified face but Masuyo pushes past her family to step towards him and the movement recaptures his attention.

                Light as a feather she slides her hand to rest against his crooked elbow.

                "Arigato." __

McCree gives her a small smile.

                _"Ikou." _

__

 

__

They leave while being watched by their whole aghast family. He can hear Genji laugh and chase after them, and the three of them walk through the pavilion to go out to the courtyard.

__

He was going to do such a good job wing manning for Hanzo that he would _have_ to earn some brownie points. Back in his deadlock days the girlfriends of older members used to love doting on him - he’s sure he can charm a dame if he needs to. _Easy_.

__

Just because their marriage was arranged didn’t mean it needed to be cold.  Even though he hated the idea of it, he wasn’t going to ruin this for Hanzo.

__

_What kind of body-swap buddy would he be if he did_?

__

 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---  
> <3 see you guys soon hopefully. As always I may edit this chappie slightly later, I may not. This day's far from over. ;)  
> P.S The first to spot the prince of egypt reference gets +50 brownie points and... whatever within my power to give, I guess. Good luck!


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